


The Death of Duty

by dashingdiscofox



Series: The Death of Duty [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones Fusion, F/M, Game of Thrones spoilers, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-21 15:37:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 69,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3697679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dashingdiscofox/pseuds/dashingdiscofox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically only a Batfic set into the Game of Thrones world. Follows the events of the first books, so spoilers. Usually short chapters.<br/>Don’t worry about the long-ass list of characters, most of them barely speak. Same with the relationships. Mostly JayDick centered, to be honest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Timothy

...

 

This wasn't good news for them, Tim knew. Dick was pacing in the room, bouncing lightly on the ball of his feet, the bells around his ankle ringing.

  
"This can't be true. This can't be happening."

  
He kept repeating that, twisting the parchment in his hands, efficiently crumpling it.

  
"Tim, please tell me I didn't read it right," he moaned, pushing the wrinkled letter into his squire's lap.  
"You did. Lord Stark got... executed."  
"Urg!"

  
Dick let himself fall on the ground with a loud thump. Tim understood the reason of his despair. It only meant sorrow, and confirmed Lord Wayne's fears about the new Lannister child king. This fall would bring its share of tragedies.

  
"This means war, Tim, and you know how much I hate it."  
"No one likes war," he answered calmly, coaxing the parchment back into a neat roll. He placed it on the table, pushing away some other books and inkpots to do so.  
"Kory did."

  
Tim huffed. He used to dream about his master's wife when he was younger, picturing a glorious warrior running down her enemies, Kory of Anders, queen beyond the sea. In his dreams he would help her conquer lands of never-ending grass, cities of gold, and ships full of coins unknown to Westeros. Back then, Tim loved reading tales about the mysterious grounds over the sea.

  
"Jason did, too," Dick added after a while.

  
Tim lost his smile. He his eyes lingered for a moment on the deceased ward's armories on the wall, black dagger on a sea of blood, before returning to his knight, laying on the ground. He never knew him, the ironborn ward of Bruce Wayne, and every time he heard about him he felt uneasiness. Dick never talked about him much, and refused to explain to Tim the circumstances of his death. He did know, now, because he found some letter in Alfred’s study a few months ago. He wondered if that was why his master would never bring him along in real combat now.

  
"We should get this to Ser Wayne before maester Alfred does," he said then, trying to lift the mood and quit speaking of gloomy matters.  
"Stop calling him Ser, Tim. He doesn't like that. And you're part of the family, now. But don’t tell Damian I said that. Help me get up?"

  
The squire had to use all his strength to get his master to his feet, pulling the now smiling man into a standing position. He tailed him out of the library, down the stairs. Dick was easy to follow, with his nice spicy perfume, his bright, wispy clothes and the little bell at his foot, sole sartorial reminder of his Dothraki lineage. He never told him what battle he won to gain that bell, and why he chose not to braid his thick black hair to wear it, but Tim didn't mind. He long ago got used to Dick's very noticeable presence, from his taste of gold to his choice of exotic clothes, which both enhanced his already handsome features. He decided his master liked to be looked upon, and that he liked to look at him. They turned into a dark corner of the small castle, climbing up again to the solar. They met the old maester there, looking as stern as usual.

  
"Alfred," greeted Dick. "Does he know already?"  
"I am afraid he does, Ser Richard."

  
The young knight looked at Tim, then sighed. Tim knew what was to come, and wasn't surprised when was asked to wait for Dick in the hall. He knew too that he would have to wait up to late in the night, so instead of chilling himself to the bone in the long, empty room, and risk getting harassed by Damian again, he went to his chambers and changed to his long cloak and high boots. He went to the adjacent room, and got out Dick's night clothes, for later, and lighted a fire to warm the small, over furnished bedroom. The squire got out oil and a brush, too, for his master always liked to have his hair tended to when he was anxious, and his conversation with Lord Wayne was surely to get him into such state of mind.

  
When everything was ready for the night, Tim got down and outside to the stables, and saddled his favorite horse, a sturdy retired war stallion. The beast couldn't go very fast, but it could go for very long, and that was what he liked the most about it. He mounted, and got out toward the setting sun, waving to the guards. Once over the drawbridge and out of the castle, Tim kicked his mount into a steady trot. The wind was strong and cold, making the trees above him dance and groan. _Winter is coming_ , he thought. His father used to tell him that a lot, proudly, the Stark words. Only, Timothy Drake wasn't a Stark, but the son of the self-proclaimed best bannerman Winterfell ever had. That was before his father's death, before the wildlings ran over his house and village, putting everything to torch, even his mother.

  
The small town under Waynecastle was half point between the Wall and Winterfell, hidden in the rocky heights near the Kingsroad, almost in the Frostfangs. The Drakesclaw village was half a day up to the north, stony and charred ruins of what used to be one of the last dwellings in the Gift. Tim often longed to come back there and rebuild, but his squire tasks kept him from doing that. _When I'll be a knight_ , Tim thought, _I'll get my people back there and keep the place, this time_. He always resented his father sending him away from home, from the danger. He was only two-and-ten back then, but he felt hiding away was cowardly, that he let everyone die while saving himself. But then again, it hadn't been his decision.

  
Tim's horse had found their way to the main street of Gothamtown, and the young squire took a moment to enjoy the smell of the cooking fires in the houses all around, the sound of little children running between the porches, laughing. Times were good. The last harvest had been bountiful, and it has been years since the last wildling raid. Sure, the cold was seeping in more and more every day, but even the summer snows didn't alter the villagers' spirit. Of course, the news of Lord Stark's execution would spread dread and worry among them. Tim wasn't looking forward to the moment of the public announcement.

  
He turned by the smith shop, listening to the restless beating of hammer on anvil. He thought he should check on his armor, to see if it would be ready for the festivities around his sixteenth birthday, on the next moon's turn. He unmounted, letting his horse drink some melted snow on the ground while he took a look inside. There was no one in the front shop, so he went in deeper, to the hearth. It wasn't the usual bald smith working, Tim noticed. _Must be an apprentice_ , he thought. _But he doesn't look like a boy_. The man was so focused on his work that he didn't see Tim creeping around. The stranger was sweaty and smelly, but Tim stayed there, wanting to ask about his armor and not doing it, mesmerized by the repeated movements, the man's muscles shaking with each hit. Tim felt really hot all of sudden, and he remembered Dick wanted him to wait in the hall at the castle. Blaming the burning coal at his feet for his sudden dizziness, he rushed outside and let the cool air soothe him as he found back his mount.

  
The moon was rising by then, and he decided it was late enough to get back home. His old horse didn't like to walk through the forest in the dark, probably because of the many wolves and foxes that hunted there, so they hurried up the rocky road and past the bridge. Tim took his time to brush the beast's mane, to give the horse plenty of fresh water and hay. He patted it twice, gave it a carrot for the good work, and then closed the box.

  
Only then did he notice the eerie silence around the castle. Tim drew up his sword. Usually, guards would salute him when he'd get back, and the groom would rush to the horse, and the drawbridge should have been up by then. He walked to the portcullis, where he found some guards on the ground, arrows through their throats. Those weren't usual arrows, he realized, but thicker crossbow ones. Tim shivered. There were no signs of a fight, which meant the attackers were subtle enough, or few enough, to get up here without being stopped. _They got into the castle_ , Tim understood as he followed the footprints in the frozen mud.

  
"Boy."

  
Tim jumped and pointed his sword to the sound. He lowered it when he saw that the voice came from a dying man, sitting against the wall. The arrow had missed the clean death it gave the others and only tore off half his neck.

  
"Boy," the man repeated, blood seeping out of his mouth. "He's off to kill Lord Wayne."  
"Who?" asked Tim.

  
The man answered a cough of blood, then died. The squire left him and ran up to the hall, to find benches flipped over, food lying on the ground, getting cold. No one was there, not even the brat. A faint clinging noise up the stairs got his attention, and so he hurried there.

  
"You _won't_ get there!"

  
That was his master yelling. Tim saw him in the stairs, blocking the way, a candlestick in his hand. The intruder was a lone man, and was now armed with a short sword, the crossbow resting on his back. Tim couldn't see his face, for it was hidden under a heavy hood. He sheathed his sword and got out his dagger as Dick flung the candlestick at his opponent, which only made him laugh. A kick in the chest from the knight cut his laugher short and got him to stumble three steps down. That's where Tim lunged at him from behind, jumping over a lying statue and pulling his dagger under the man's chin.

  
"Drop your sword," he commanded.

  
The hooded man turned the weird looking steel in his hand, then stabbed at Tim with it, efficiently tearing at his shoulder and arm in a fiery pain. The squire pulled his dagger farther up, but the man was too tall, and his own arm was hurting too much for him to slit his throat. Dick came down with the candlestick, getting at the enemy's wrist with a sickening crunch. The man grunted and let go of his sword. The candlestick hit his groin next, and Tim nearly fell over when the man got on his knees.

  
"Who are you?" growled Dick, pointing at the kneeling man with his makeshift mace. 

Tim felt the man under him exhale.

" _Who are you?_ " repeated his master, lifting his candlestick again, as if to hit.

  
Tim grabbed the hood with his free hand and uncovered him. Dick had no reaction.

  
"I won't repeat myself again. Who are...?"  
"You know me," cut the man.  
"I don't," answered Dick, his whole body taunt with anger.

  
His squire heard the man swallow under the dagger.

  
"You know me, pretty bird. You _knew_ me, but you forgot. They all forgot."

The candlestick made a loud clattering noise when it fell down the stairs. The surprise made Tim jump, and the man hissed when the blade dug deeper into his skin.

  
"Let him go," Dick said softly.  
"... Why?" the squire let out, confused.  
"Just let him go, Tim," ordered the knight.

  
Tim obeyed, because he trusted his master, and because his arm was hurting a lot. As soon as the threat of getting his throat slit got removed, the stranger elbowed him in the ribs, hard.

  
"Don't do that, or else I'm knocking you out," spat Dick, picking Tim up and rubbing his back soothingly. "Tim, go to Alfred, I'll take care of this."  
"No, I can't leave you..."  
"Tim."

  
His voice left no place to discussion. The wounded fighter eyed the still kneeling man, who was now mumbling to himself while wiping blood from under his chin.

  
"I'll kill you next," he promised when he noticed the younger boy looking at him.  
"Just you try," growled Tim, rage rising in his heart, his hand curling around his dagger.  
"Very scary," he answered, amused. "Is that all you found to replace me?" he then asked Dick.

  
Dick said nothing and hugged himself, bouncing on his feet.

  
"Who are you?" the squire all but yelled, angered by his master's silence and the throbbing pain in his arm.  
"Why, you chickenshit, haven't you heard of me?" the stranger smiled.

  
He got awkwardly up to his feet and proceeded to bow to Tim, smirking all along.

  
"I'm Jason Todd from the Iron Islands, mighty ward of that shithead of Lord Wayne."

He winked at Dick and laughed, and Tim felt sudden anguish wash over him.


	2. Richard

...

 

He needed that bath since last week, Dick decided as he sunk deeper under the hot water.

 

"A raven got here for you this morning."

"No it didn’t."

 

That startled Tim enough to make him stop dead in his track.

 

"... Yes it did," he insisted gently.

"Then please tell me no one died again," he sighed.

"I don't think so. This is from your wife."

 

 _She could be dead, too, for all I know_ , Dick thought morosely. He opened one eye to look at his squire standing awkwardly in the middle of the bathroom with his bandaged arm and the letter dangling from his fingers.

 

"Read it to me," he ordered, grabbing for the sponge to scrub his face.

 

Tim cleared his throat and opened the missive.

 

" _'Dear husband'_ ," he started, " _'It has now been two years since you departed. You do know that such a long time without you by my side means that I am now free of our marital vows.'_..."

 

Tim paused, which made his master look up at him again.

 

 

"What is it?"

"I didn't know that. Did you know that?" Tim asked, looking at the letter with suspicious eyes.

"Yes, I did."

 

Dick sighed. He knew that when he left her to conquer the world beyond the sea. It would have been the same if he had stayed, since he was unable to give her an heir. She actually refused to bear a child, for it made women weak and slow in combat. And since he couldn’t do it for her...

 

"Go on, Tim," he said.

"... Sure. _'I do not wish it to end this way, beloved. I would like you to come here so you could...'_ "

 

Dick was getting annoyed by his squire's inconstant reading, but when he went to express his frustration, he understood with one glance at Tim's beet red face that this letter was not as official as he first thought.

 

"Are you going to survive, Tim? It's not the first time you read her writing for me," Dick joked.

"I shouldn't be reading that. This belongs to you and her."

"Come on. You're my squire, I've put you through worse. I have an awful day ahead of me, so please finish reading that nice letter for me."

 

The glare Tim sent him was actually pretty close to deadly. He laughed softly in return, flicking his toes in the water.

 

" _'... I would like you to come here so you could spend all days between my legs, and I all nights resting between yours. I would ride you like...'_ I'm sorry, Dick, but I can't do this. Your lady wife obviously has... a mighty need of you, and that doesn't concern me in the least."

 

 _She's no lady_ , Dick thought, _she's a queen_. He huffed instead.

 

"Fine, fine, don't read it if it embarrasses you so. Take my darkest clothes out instead."

"You don't own dark clothes," countered his very irksome squire.

"Then find me some!"

 

Tim finally got out of the room, leaving the letter on the small table beside the door. Dick declared this the worst bath in history of baths, and emerged to dry himself. Today would be a really gruesome day. Jason was to die again. He finished reading the offensive letter. Kory was very explicit about why she wanted to see him again. She still didn't need an heir, but she obviously missed him as a lover. Dick knew he could join her. He knew he didn't need an heir like Tim would eventually, or Bruce once did. He wasn't to be the lord of anything, so he didn't have to sire sons. But he wanted to. He didn't want to spend the rest of his days reaching his pleasure over Kory's belly or hands or breasts or mouth because she was afraid he might impregnate her. He loved her a lot, and had missed her dearly since he left her to rule over the sandy dunes of her kingdom in the Summer Islands, but he knew he couldn't stay longer by her side. He had liked everything there. The heat, the sun, the clear salty water, the white clay buildings, the green of Kory’s eyes. Then Jason had died, and he knew his place was somehow in the coldest castle ever made, with wildlings nearby and Bruce's stern company. That he had to go back. And there he was, and Jason was going to die again, and Dick wondered if he'd made the right choice.

 

"I had to fish the doublet in Bruce's wardrobe, and the breeches are from some cook, but I think it'll fit."

"I'm glad you thought of Bruce," Dick said, letting Tim handle the clothes. "The man only dresses as if every day was Night Watch day."

"And you Ser only dress as if every day was fool day."

 

Dick hit him with the brush he'd be holding.

 

"Why do you want to dress in black anyway?" asked Tim.

"Because that's what I did last time he died."

"If you ask me, that's good news."

 

Dick smacked him with the brush again.

 

"Don't say things like that."

"This can't even be Jason Todd. He was dead. You can't come back from that," Tim reasoned while pulling on his master's boots.

"It was him. I don't know how he came back, but it was him, I know that."

"You looked at him for a very short time, and it was dark outside."

"Tim, shut up. It was him. I knew him."

 

 _And he called me pretty bird_. But he didn't tell Tim that.

 

"We should go. I wouldn't want to be late."

 

 _Not like last time_. But again, Tim was too young to understand. Dick tied his bell around his wrist, for the long boots wouldn't allow it at his ankle. He won only one battle he commanded, with Jason at his side, against one of the first summer raids of wildlings. They were little armed, and he lost few men. That was just before he followed Kory over the sea. Jason wasn't his squire, but he joined him for battle against Bruce's orders. And he was really good at war, after all.

Lost in thoughts, he went downstairs with Tim, up to the main hall.

 

"Grayson, I see you've dressed like a normal human being for once."

 

Dick lifted his eyebrow at the small boy in front of him, standing before the door leading to the hall and to the gathering.

 

"I didn't think children were invited to trials, Damian."

 

The heir of Wayne lifted his head proudly.

 

"I know. I'm always asking myself why Drake keeps showing up to important events."

 

Dick had to laugh at that, while his squire managed not to punch the brat.

 

"I can't believe I'm being made fun of by a 9 years old," he said flatly. "Let us go get that ghost back to where he belongs."

 

And with that he left, entering the hall that has been set to welcome the special audience. Dick messed up Damian's hair until the young boy hissed at him and whined for his mother, then followed his squire. The room was crowded. Very crowded. Peasants to small nobility were all standing or sitting if important enough, all squeezed into the benches and around the great wooden pillars. Many people came only to see Jason, he knew. Bruce barely acknowledged him as he sat beside him before clapping his hands once, drawing attention on him and putting an end to the chatters.

 

"Today we gathered to give this man a fair trial," began Lord Wayne.

 

Dick only now noticed that Jason was already there, sitting quietly at a heavily guarded table.

 

"He pretends to be the ironborn Jason Todd, who used to be my ward, and disappeared at a battle against wildlings. He came to this castle a week ago, with the intention of killing me, and succeeded in murdering a dozen of my personal guard and servants instead. The jury is to be myself, maester Alfred Pennyworth and my lady wife Talia. We will now hear our witnesses."

 

Tim was the first witness, for he was the one who found the dead guards around the portcullis. He told the story of his return to the hall’s stairs, where he helped Dick fighting, how they both stopped the man, and how he got hurt during the fight. Tim added that he didn't believe the man to be Jason Todd, since dead people usually stayed dead.

After the squire came Roy Harper, Head Commander of Waynecastle guard. He showed the jury a plan of the outskirts of the castle, and explained how the man penetrated inside. He then made a list of all the men the accused killed that night, how he shot them from afar. Dick knew Roy as a childhood friend, and he sighed in relief when the soldier admitted that the man shared a close resemblance to the actual Jason Todd, even though his memory could be at fault. The crowd mumbled at the affirmation, and Jason looked especially bored. Then came Dick's turn.

 

"A hooded man entered the hall, where I was waiting for my squire, and pointed a crossbow at me. I threw the bench at him in defense and grabbed the next thing I could find, which happened to be the most ridiculous candlestick. We fought up the stairs, and then he told me I should let him go, for he was only after Ser Bruce. This is where I started attacking him. My squire Timothy finally arrived and helped me get the man unhooded. This is where I recognized Jason Todd. And I must admit, I am pretty excited to know the explanation behind this... unexpected return."

"Is that all, Ser Richard?" asked Bruce in a deep voice.

"Yes."

"You may sit. Since all of the other possible witnesses are now dead due to their injuries, we now are to hear what the accused has to say."

 

Roy put Jason to his feet and pushed him forward, so he was standing in front of Lord Wayne.

 

"I only have two things to say, actually," he claimed, smiling at the table in front of him with sheer amusement. "First of all, I am very sad I didn't shoot that guy first."

 

For a flicker of moment, Dick thought he was pointing at him, and his pulse jumped in fright. But he then realized it was Tim he was threatening, and he suddenly felt oddly relieved.

 

"Second thing is... I demand a trial by combat."

 

Protests were said, complaints were yelled, and so were insults and curses. The crowd made a move, as if to reach forward, to him, and Bruce had to clap his hands again.

 

"Father, I thought I was to see this scoundrel's head roll off his shoulders," screamed the little voice of Damian Wayne.

 

Bruce ignored his son and set his hard eyes upon the audience.

 

"You will need a champion," he declared, speaking to Jason.

"I'm my own champion," he answered with a smile.

"Good. Then I will need someone to fight you."

 

Not an instant passed before Tim was standing.

 

"Me. I volunteer."

 

Jason's laugher echoed loud in the hall.

 

"Please, that would be too easy. At least don't send me against a boy!"

 

Dick felt like he had to stand too, to protect his squire.

 

"Timothy isn't ready to champion yet, my lord. He’s wounded."

"I understand. Timothy, I refuse your offer," said Bruce.

 

That angered the squire enough he pushed Dick away and stormed out the room, leaving his master confused and standing there awkwardly.

 

"Baby bird wanted to get killed, that's fine with me. Two birds, one stone," added Jason.

 

Roy then had the good idea to shut him up, using a swift hit behind the head with the butt of his longsword.

 

"I will champion for you, my lord," finally asserted one guard on the Head Commander's left.

 

Bruce nodded in his direction, and with that being said, he put an end to the audience by leaving by the grand staircase, tailed by his lady Talia and their young son, who still seemed disappointed by the trial’s outcome. The mob understood the show was over and seeped away by the main door, leaving a few lingering nobles behind and almost all of the castle guard. Dick stayed, still shocked by Tim’s behavior and the poor result of the trial.

 

“I almost didn’t see you, with all that black.”

 

He lifted his head. Roy Harper had let his men take Jason back to the dungeon as he scooted closer to Dick.

 

“Still makes you look pretty, though,” he smiled.

 

Dick pushed his fingers away when they tried to creep around his hip.

 

“I’m not in a courting mood, Ser.” he protested. “Someone I used to love as a brother is going to die. Again.”

“He did well to ask a trial by combat,” agreed the Commander, keeping his hands to himself. “I shouldn’t say that, but he actually stands a chance against Rick.”

“You truly think it’s him? Jason?” Dick had to ask, only to make sure.

 

Roy gestured for them to leave the hall and its prying occupants. They turned by the stairs, in a small alcove that used to contain a statue before Dick threw it down, trying to block Jason’s path the night he went on a deadly rampage.

 

“Yes,” answered the Head Commander. “He told me things, down in the dungeon. Things an impostor couldn’t know. I don’t understand what kind of sorcery he used to return from… there, but… Maybe he never died. We never actually found his body.”

“I don’t want to hear about those details.”

 

The curt answer made his friend awkward. Roy grabbed his arm gently.

 

“I should go make sure if my squire’s alright,” the knight added, trying to free himself.

“No need to be so distant, Dick. There’s no one around.”

 

He huffed through his nose in frustration.

 

“Come on. It’s been long enough, don’t you think?”

“Long enough since what?” he growled.

 

Roy smiled and snorted, leaning closer.

 

“Long enough since you spread those pretty legs for me.”

 

Dick grinded his teeth, feeling hot in the face and wishing very hard no one heard that.

 

“Not tonight, Roy. Jason’s going to die, I’m really not in the mood.”

 

The guard straightened up and left his personal space.

 

“Oh well… If you need something, you know where to find me.”

“I… Thank you.”

 

The soldier patted him twice with a sad nod, then let go of him to meet with the rest of his men. Dick didn’t wait any longer near the congested hall and got on tracking his vexed squire.

  
  



	3. Damian

...

 

The day had been the most boring so far. Damian threw a morsel of poultry to his cat. The dumb animal didn’t see it and it was left untouched on the ground. He didn’t even get to see his first execution, and now his father wouldn’t let him see the fight tomorrow. The decision was unfair. He was no little kid anymore, he was the next lord of Waynecastle.

 

“I’m the true heir,” he told the cat, “And yet Father always listen to Grayson. Or worst, Drake.”

 

The cat meowed and tried to rub its face against its master’s leg.

 

“Bugger off, Lofti,” muttered the lording. “I’m in no mood to pet you.”

 

A water bearer opened the door then, and the slim beast jumped through the gap.

 

“You stupid lad! This is an indoor cat. Go fetch it, now!”

 

The startled boy dropped his jug. It crashed on the floor and shattered, spilling water everywhere.

 

“You incompetent fool,” spat Damian. “You clean the mess you’ve made. I’ll go get the cat.”

 

He kicked the kneeling boy in the back while getting through the door. The imbecile did let his favorite pet escape after all, he deserved it. He knew Lofti couldn’t have gone too far. The cat was a nervous critter, and it would have stayed inside the castle’s walls in such a rainy night. So Damian climbed up the stairs, thinking that if he were a cat, he wouldn’t care going through the noisy guard’s quarters. He wasn’t supposed to go there, for it was the lord and his lady’s rooms, but Damian was their only son, so he guessed they wouldn’t mind seeing him chasing his cat here. After all, they let Grayson climb around and jump on the beds when he was younger. Or so Alfred told him. Damian felt the sudden urge to hit something, but stone walls were his only choice, so he refrained himself. _Grayson isn’t even Father’s real son, not even his bastard son, and yet he keeps getting privileges over me._ That was to change as soon as Damian was of age to rule. The impostor knight was to be demoted to be a fool. _He was born a fool, he’d return a fool._ That would be fair, at least. No mummers should be ahead of him, the boy decided as he climbed further up. And then he would exile Drake back to his hole of a village near the Wall. _Or maybe I should send him to the Wall itself, so his sons would never bother me._ Damian liked to make plans about his future. It was one of the few things that made him happy, with hunting and cleaning up his game afterward. And spending time with his mother, too. She was the only one here giving him enough respect for who he was.

 

“Lofti,” he called, trying to spot the white cat in the darkness.

 

There was no answer, but he did hear voices nearby. _If I am to be the lord one day, I must know what goes on around my lands. A little eavesdropping never hurt anyone._ Damian crawled closer to the door he knew was giving on his father’s solar.

 

“Damian is very upset you refused him the show tomorrow,” was saying Lady Talia.

“He’s too young for that kind of sight,” replied the deep voice of Lord Wayne.

“You know he is ready. You trained Richard at his age.”

“Yes, and see what that got me. A son who’s afraid of blood.”

 

Talia laughed softly.

 

“He is not afraid, he despises it.”

“Same thing.”

“ _Our_ son wouldn’t be afraid. Let him come tomorrow, he’ll prove worthy of it.”

“I will think about it.”

 

Damian smiled. He wasn’t afraid of blood. He was Bruce’s rightful son after all.

 

“You will lose another man tomorrow, beloved,” Talia went on.

“And how would you know that? And please don’t tell me you saw it in your flames again.”

“I didn’t. The ways of the Lord are very… confusing lately.”

 

Damian heard his father scoff.

 

“This man isn’t Jason. I don’t care who he is, but Ser Rick Hawthorn is a good enough sword fighter to beat him easily. Only cowards use crossbows.”

“Beloved… This is Jason. You know it.”

“Nothing proves it,” countered Bruce.

“I know how he came back.”

 

There was a silence. The young spy had never really cared about that random man who tried to kill his lord father lately, for it was clear to him that the nuisance was soon to be exterminated. The ghost stories bored him to no end, and he never cared to learn more about that ward his father used to have. But if it disturbed his father so...

 

“How, Talia? We searched every field, we looked at every corpse to find him, and we never succeeded. He disappeared, but there was no way he could have survived. His ban all died, we found them all.”

 

A soft silken sound got to the heir’s ears, and he pictured his mother moving about the room, pacing quietly.

 

“They all had the Joker’s smile, he cut them all open. And Jason wasn’t there. So please tell me how he managed to live.”

“I know what you think of my God, beloved, but you must understand the Lord of Light gives great powers to his most fervent admirers.”

“... Jason didn’t believe in your Red God, Talia.”

“No, not Jason. But Father did.”

 

Bruce whispered something Damian couldn’t catch.

 

“How? Your father was nowhere near when the raid happened.”

“He was, actually. He meant to meet that wildling, the one you call the Joker, and trade for furs and women with him. He stayed at Queenscrown for a while.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Bruce asked, his voice hollow.

“I didn’t think he had anything to do with this, until now. R’hllor gives the power of life to his high priests, and I know Father thrived to find a chance to try this power. And he found the chance with Jason.”

 

The chair let out a small creaking sound when Bruce Wayne sat on it.

 

“He wrote me,” Talia went on, “to tell me he succeeded in breathing the fire of life back into a corpse. I didn’t know who it was, but he said he meant to give our family back something. I thought he meant our second born, but…”

 

Damian hit the stone stair and had to muffle a groan, pain lancing through his fist. When did his parents tried to have another son? Was he not enough? He didn’t know, he didn’t truly care, but he was glad the unknown brother died. He had enough rivalry with Grayson.

 

“No one could have saved her, my love,” Bruce said softly. “She was dead before born, and no one could have saved her, not even your father.”

“I know,” whispered the woman. “I know, but yet I hoped it was her. But it was Jason, and he returned to us with murder on his mind.”

“And he will have to pay for his crime, undead or not.”

 

Talia let out a small laughing sigh.

 

“Oh, beloved. Do you really think R’hllor would let him die? He protects the ones He saves.”

“The gods will take the side of the innocent, and for what it’s worth, I’ll let him live if he wins.”

“He will win,” affirmed the Lady of Waynecastle.

“What should I do if he does? I cannot let him stay here. He wanted to kill me, and nearly succeeded in killing Timothy. And he attacked Richard. The soldiers would do themselves justice in a fortnight.”

“Exile him,” she suggested.

 

 _Good_ , thought Damian.

 

“Where? He won’t go back to the Iron Islands, and even the Wall wouldn’t want him.”

 

Talia made a little humming song while she thought.

 

“Send him to Richard’s wife.”

“No. I have no power there, and I wouldn’t want to lose my grip on him. He’s still my ward, if he survives his trial. What about your father?”

“If he sent him, he wouldn’t want him back. We should marry him.”

 

Bruce laughed goodheartedly this time.

 

“Talia, my love, please don’t be ridiculous. Who would agree to marry their daughter to a ghost?”

“No one in Westeros, you are right. But outside the Seven Kingdoms, plenty of princesses would like to have a child of the God of Flames as a husband.”

“I will think about this. Maybe we could find him some good family, not that he deserves so much.”

 

A meow caught Damian’s attention. Lofti was waving its tail, purring near its master.

 

“Stupid cat,” muttered the young lording.

“Did you hear something, beloved?” suddenly said Talia.

 

Damian didn’t wait to be discovered and ran down the stairs, picking up his cat on his way. He returned breathless to his bedroom, to find it empty and clean. He threw the cat inside and closed the door, wishing he hadn’t listen for so long at his father’s door. But then he smiled with contempt. _Grayson doesn’t know what I know, now._ The adopted son would have to give him so much to learn everything. Even his right to become Lord of Waynecastle. This time, Damian petted his cat with satisfaction.

 


	4. Timothy

...

 

Even after his apologies, he was still mad at Dick. He knew he had no right to discuss his master’s order in front of others, but in the confine of his room Tim had yelled his anger in his pillows, kicking into his bed sheets and punching the mattress until his wounded arm ached. He was to be six-and-ten years old in less than a month, and he was still being treated like a child who can’t fight nor think. He didn’t mind the infantilizing attitude from Ser Bruce or Damian, but seeing Dick taking that killer’s side had been too much for him to bear. Dick had seen him in tourneys, he’d seen him with a bow and a sword. Tim knew how to fight since he was a toddler, crawling up in the mud at Drakesclaw, and yet _Ser_ Grayson couldn’t see him as a capable man. _I even helped him win against that farce of Jason Todd, and that’s how he thanked me?_ Tim knew it was pathetic to loath his knight so much, but his pride was at stake. After all, his arms were a lone green dragon on black and red strips, an old, old reminder of the times where the Drakes were Targaryens. His father had trained him in the arts of nobility, from horse riding to falcon hunting. And yet here he was, squiring for a former fool who had the unlucky chance of being orphaned right in the middle of some Lord Wayne’s fest, and then being knighted a few years later for his services to the community. Not even a great battle feat. He built a mill, that’s what made Dick Grayson a knight. Tim made himself breathe deep and long to stop the shaking in his body.

 

“Do I truly deserve all this hate, Tim?”

 

The squire jumped. He hadn’t hear his master sneak into his room.

 

“You don’t have your bell,” he noticed at once, since Dick’s presence was usually very perceptible.

“I don’t. So tell me, why are you still mad at me?”

 

Tim was at loss for words. He never meant to _tell_ him.

 

“I know what you think,” said the older man. “You think I did this because I don’t trust you. Is that what you think?”

 

He nodded. As long as he didn’t talk, he would be fine.

 

“And you think that I shouldn’t decide for you, since you’ll be your own man in a few days.”

 

Tim agreed again.

 

“And you’re a Drake, and I had to choose my surname myself since I didn’t have any.”

 

This time, he stayed still. He didn’t want to admit that. He didn’t want for Dick to think he was like Damian, thinking lowly of people only because of their names or blood.

 

“Tim, your feelings are understandable. I would feel this way too, if I were you. But I did it to protect you. Call me selfish if you want, but I didn’t want Jason to kill you or hurt you again. I know you’re a great fighter, but I’m afraid he is, too. You are going to turn into a man grown soon, and I wouldn’t have wanted to turn your birthday tourney into a burial.”

 

Dick patted his hair, slowly, smoothing them away from his face.

 

“I lost him once, and when I did I lost a friend. But if I’d lost you yesterday, I’d have lost a brother, and that I couldn’t bear.”

“I’m sorry, my lord,” muttered Tim, overflowed with remorse.

“It’s fine. You’re young, and you have a hot temper. But I’ve waited long enough already to knight you, so don’t mess this up by dying stupidly.”

 

Tim’s heart flickered at his words.

 

“You… You really meant it?” he stuttered, looking up at his master’s eyes for the first time since the trial.

“Yes. As soon as you win your tourney, like you always do.”

“And what if I lose?”

“I’ll find some other excuse to do it, then. Or wait another tourney.”

 

Tim blurted a nervous laugh, then smiled.

 

“I’m sorry I was such an arse, Dick,” he told his master.

“I’m sorry I made you feel that way,” answered the man, grabbing his arms in a friendly embrace.

 

The squire let the hug happen, taking comfort in the fact that he did have a great, caring master after all.

 

“Are you ready for the trial?” whispered Dick, still holding him close.

“Yes. I will try not to shame you again.”

 

He was answered with a short laugh that shook his whole body.

 

“You’re not wearing black today,” the young man said when his mentor put an end to the touch.

“No. Jason wouldn’t want me in black.”

 

The sudden change of mind left a raised eyebrow on Tim’s face, but he decided not to say anything, and instead followed Dick outside. The weather was nice for once, but heavy clouds still threatened to burst over their heads at any moment of the day, even though the air was warm enough not to wear furs. They took places under Bruce, Talia and Damian. Maester Alfred sat on the left, ready to tend to the wounded winner. The lording had somehow managed to bargain his right to assist, and spat at Tim’s feet when he saw him.

 

“Grayson, how pleased I am to see you. If you care for it, I might have some interesting facts you’d like to know.”

“About what, Damian? Your cat?”

 

The heir’s pout was worth the spit covering his left boot, and Tim let himself laugh some.

 

“How amusing. So convenient, from a jester.”

“Damian, enough,” boomed the lord’s voice. “By the next word you utter, you’ll be sent back to your room.”

 

The son obeyed and sat in silence, all the smugness wiped from his features. Tim glanced at the fighting arrangements laid before him. The trial was to be done in the tourney sandy ring, the one for sword fighting. The squire’s favorite challenge, next to jousting. He suddenly felt very glad and grateful for his master not to be down there that day, for he had prepared his birthday tourney since last year. The wound on his shoulder was sure to slow him down, but it would be mostly healed by then, maester Alfred swore. All kinds of knights and lords were to assist, and he couldn’t wait to restore some of his family’s renown. He was sure to win archery, as he did almost all the time, but he really wanted to dismount everyone this year, to show his strength and deftness. He was put out of his reverie by a loud trumpet and the arrival of Ser Rick Hawthorn in the ring.

 

“The accused Jason Todd asked for a trial by combat,” bawled a standing Bruce Wayne over their heads, speaking to the many people who gathered under the dais and around the ring, “and so let the Gods help the one they find just.”

 

Lord Wayne sat. There were cheers, and some women threw favors at the soldier, clad in his usual armor and swaying his longsword for the show. Jason was escorted by a small army, the only naked head in the flood of helms.

 

“Why isn’t he wearing any protection?” muttered Tim to himself, thinking the undead ward more than a little self-imbued.

“That is because the Lord of Light protects him,” answered Lady Talia over him.

 

The young squire shivered. The ironborn was in fact in boiled leather, and had chosen the same crooked dagger he stabbed Tim with for weapon, but he sported no shield and no helm of any kind. The soldiers made way and stood around the fighting sand, pushing some people out to build an efficient wall to protect the fighters… or the crowd. Jason walked around, seemingly unafraid, the mob oddly silent by then. That was when Tim noticed the small silver bell at his wrist. He turned to his master in quest for an answer and found him smiling softly. He swallowed a curse and a hundred questions and kept them for later. He had sworn not to put shame on him again.

 

“Quite a nice day to die, don’t you think?” the reborn man told his opponent, his voice clear in the open area, bouncing against the castle walls in an eerie echo.

 

The soldier got into a defending stance, while Jason kept walking in circles, playing with his dagger.

 

“You’re not the talkative type of man, I see,” he went on. “Maybe you’re too hot with that big plate of yours. After all, the only holes I see you can breathe through are for your mouth or… eyes.”

 

With a flash of steel, Rick Hawthorn was on his knees, yelling, the dagger up into one of his helm’s orifice, blood flowing out from his left eye.

 

“Oh well, it’s a shame you didn’t think of a visor.”

 

Jason walked quietly while the soldier yanked the dagger out and got back to his feet. Tim had to admire him for his courage, since he could hardly understand how the small blade got there in the first place. It went too quickly. And quickly again it went when Jason ran the last distance between his enemy and him, slid in the sand and under his legs, picked up his dagger again and forced it behind Rick’s knee. The armored man stumbled again, but this time he slashed at the young man and opened up a gash in the front of his leather. Unfortunately, he didn’t cut through skin, and only made Jason mad.

 

“We’ve played for long enough, Ser,” he let out before kicking the sword hard enough its holder had to drop it.

 

He picked it up and raised it high to let the blade crash against the arm Rick Hawthorn put out to defend himself, cutting it neatly at the elbow. More blood splashed, painting Jason in a mucky red. He laughed, then, a mad laugh only met by horrified silence.

 

“Mercy,” spluttered the soldier, holding his bleeding stump, the hole that had been his eye still seeping.

“I can give you that,” the former ward said, suddenly very serious.

 

He pulled off the helm and gorget of his sobbing opponent, then held his hair to expose the throat. He slid it easily in one fluid movement, then let the soldier become a corpse on the wet sandy ground. He got up to his feet and bowed, the bell ringing at his hand. Tim looked at Dick, to find his coppery skinned face very pale. He had lost his smile.

 

“I declare Jason Todd innocent of killing the members of my guard,” announced Bruce with a clear disgust in his voice. “But he is still my ward for the crimes of his father, and for that we shall send him to the dungeon.”

 

A murmur of agreement spread on the spectators’ lips.

 

“Fuck you!”

 

Tim snapped his eyes back to the bloody fighter.

 

“I won’t return to your fucking dungeon!”

 

Jason had picked up his dagger and threw it again, but this time in Bruce’s direction. Only Dick was faster and got up, and the blade found its way in the flesh of his hand, through and through. He gasped at the pain, recoiling around his wound, and Tim got to his feet and unsheathed his sword. The crowed screamed when Jason climbed up the dais, a trail of guards behind him. He got in Tim’s reach for a second, but Dick grabbed his squire’s leg with his good hand and he missed his slash at the criminal. Jason jumped over a yelping Damian and down the way to the castle. He disappeared between the big, white pines, the Head Commander’s men behind him. Tim knew they wouldn’t find him, though.

 

“Tim, could you…Alfred. Please.”

 

He turned to his master, who looked in much pain, even if it didn’t seem to come from the dagger stuck in his right hand alone. He found the maester already walking up to Dick.

 

“You should come with me,” the old man said instead. “I will need all my supplies for such a wound.”

 

Dick nodded, tears welling up under his dark eyelashes, and Tim followed closely. They walked to the castle and to the maester tower without paying attention to the commotion outside while Bruce and his family were being put inside, in safety.

 

“This isn’t Jason,” his master finally whispered, tears now running down his pretty face, smudging his makeup. “This isn’t my lost brother. I don’t know this man.”

 

 _And yet you gave him your bell, as if it were some kind of lady favor_ , thought Tim.

 

“Who is it, then?” he asked instead.

“A monster.”

 

Dick bit his lip to poorly muffle a sob.

 

“He changed,” he went on with a cracking voice, “and now I don’t even know him. I thought I knew him, but he cheated me. Jason never cheated me before.”

“What death does to a man surely changes him,” commented maester Alfred.

“He cheated you?” said Tim.

“He made me trust him. I did trust him, until he butchered that poor Rick.”

“He had to.”

“He laughed, Tim. No one kills for fun.”

 

The laugh did send chills up the squire’s spine, and thinking about it made him want to crawl under his bed. He led his master to Alfred’s tower instead and got him warm wine while they waited for the maester to gather his ointments. Dick cried silently, sitting on the chair by the fire, and Tim wasn’t sure if he could do something to help him.

 

“This will hurt,” said the maester, “but this is the easy part.”

 

He pulled the crooked dagger out without warning, tearing a scream of pain out of Dick. Tim felt bile rise in his mouth when he saw the hole in his master’s palm. Alfred looked at it, then smiled.

 

“No poison, no infection so far. You’ve been lucky, Ser Richard.”

“Very lucky,” deadpanned the knight, spitting a curse in a language Tim didn’t understand.

“I will pour boiling wine on your wound now, so you might want to have the milk of the poppy first.”

“Dreamwine is enough,” assured Tim’s master.

 

The maester went to help him drink, but Dick took the flask by himself and gulped down the liquid.

 

“I’m left-handed,” he told the old man with a smile.

“I keep forgetting.”

 

Alfred put the kettle of wine over the fire to let it boil and to let time for the dreamwine to dull Dick’s senses. After two flasks, the knight was muttering gibberish in his mother tongue and some queer remarks about the shadows in the tower and how funny the Drowned God seemed to him. The maester nodded and tied the wounded hand still, then held an empty pot to Tim. The squire understood why when the hot wine was being poured and Dick retched in the middle of a deafening cry. He somehow managed not to faint thorough the process, and Alfred swiftly sew the cleaned wound close on both sides. He gently wrapped some clean bandages around it while Tim cleaned his master’s face from the tears and vomit.

 

“You look so pretty in that dress, Tim,” whispered Dick before falling asleep against his squire.

 

Maester Alfred set up a coat for the sleeping knight to lie on, and helped Tim carry the heavy body there.

 

“You should get some rest too, Timothy.”

 

It was already dark outside, and the yells in the yard had receded.

 

“I’d rather stay by his side,” he said.

 

The maester let him be, and got up to his business of tidying up the mess they’d made with the boiling wine. Tim took Jason’s bloodied dagger and looked at it. He could tell by the craftsmanship and the inlaid rubies that it didn’t come from the North. Jason came from somewhere else, then. The squire cleaned the blade and noticed its fine gleam. Valyrian steel. So Jason came from somewhere... important. Dick moaned in his sleep and tried to push his pillow with his bad hand. Tim dropped the blade on the table and stopped him from doing that, then yawned. Maybe he did need a little rest. He closed his eyes. _Just for a moment_ , he thought.

  



	5. Richard

...

 

It’d been raining since the last few days, soaking up the leaves up the trees and turning everything into mud. Then it had frozen all over, and now the whole village was stuck in brown ice. That morning, a light snow had tried to turn it white, only to end up brown too. The pines and tree barks were a dark, humid brown, and everything was mucky, and Dick shivered on his horse.

 

“Stupid north,” he uttered, his breath misting around his face and beading in his furs.

 

Tim didn’t seem disrupted by the constant drizzle sticking to his cloak, and drew yet another arrow. The partridge didn’t even had time to fly before death reached it, making it fall softly on the leafy, very brown ground.

 

“You think you’ve got enough birds now?” he asked his squire, who was picking up his sixth game in the noon.

“I want to beat Damian.”

“Damian has a crossbow. He’ll win that dumb bet you made.”

 

Tim made a disapproving sound.

 

“Crossbows make too much noise. He’ll frighten them.”

 

Dick’s hand was hurting with all the rain, and he never liked hunting that much.

 

“I’ll go walk around the pond,” he told Tim, who was busy getting his arrow out the bird with a dull crunch.

“Good. Your horse is awfully noisy.”

 

As if to mark the point, the knight’s horse let out a loud whinny.

 

"Hush, Zitka," he said, patting the gray mare's strong neck.

 

 _She's nervous_ , he thought, leading his mount around the trees. That made him anxious too, and he went to check on the young heir, lost somewhere in the small woods between the Kingsroad and the village. He listened for the crossbow's clicks and drawing sounds, but he heard none.

 

"Damian?" Dick called, dread knotting in his heart.

 

No one answered. They were wolves here, and he had read every raven Bruce had received. There was a new King in the North. That was sure to anger anyone who wasn't a Stark bannerman, and even some of them. Bruce didn't trust the Boltons. Roads weren't that secure anymore, even here far in the winter lands. Just his luck, to lose the brat in the forest when he was supposed to protect him. What was the idea of going out to hunt in such a weather and with such foes at arm point, Dick didn't know. He meant to go around the pond, but the horse suddenly reared up.

 

"What is it girl?" he asked gently, trying to soothe the beast. "What's wrong?"

 

He dismounted, groaning when his right hand grasped against the saddle. Zitka wouldn't go any further, and Dick saw why. On a rocky elevation between the roots, there was a dead hare. _She doesn't like blood much. Like me._ The hare was opened up, his guts spilled around. _No wolf work_ , he decided, seeing the knife cuts and the untouched flesh. The head was stuck in a snare. _Someone put snares here, so that means someone lives nearby._

He thought of Jason. He hoped of Jason. Roy had told him they didn't succeed in capturing him again. _He must be free and far away now, far away from all of us._ He felt sad. He kept missing the opportunities to actually bond with the ironborn, from the day he met him, scrawny and yelling, when he first came to the castle after his father's defeat. _He keeps coming here hating us all._ Dick sighed. He had liked him when he was three-and-ten years old and full of himself. He was funny and alive. Compared to sage, blank, noble Tim, Jason was a burst of curses, sarcasms and arrogance. That was why he thought he recognized him in the lethal man that arrived at Waynecastle not so long ago. That and the seafoam eyes. And the pretty bird. _I was such a fool._

He picked up the hare and buried it under the dead leaves. That would feed some kind of wild animals later. _'You'll see, pretty bird, I'm back for good. Once I'm done here I'll go Old Wyk again, burn it down, just to show ‘em. Then I'll take you to Essos, so you can find whatever family you still have there. You don't need that dumb castle. You don't need them.'_ He shouldn't have gone to the dungeon. He shouldn't have listened to Roy when he'd told him Jason wanted to speak with him. That wasn't Jason anyway, not the real one. _'Tomorrow I'll win, and they'll have to free me. I'll get you to your Dothraki place over the sea, I'll have my own ship.'_ The idea had been so nice, and Dick had felt guilty afterward, when he woke up in the maester's tower with Tim curled up near him, his hand throbbing. _'But you have to understand, pretty bird, if you're not with me you're against me. So I hope you don't like that squire of yours too much.'_ He had fled after that, after Jason's smirk in the dark. _'You know where to find me if things get ugly.'_ The words had echoed in the cold hallways.

He knew. He knew the hunting cabin on the other side of the pond was the place Jason had told him about. The small house was in ruin, and there was no sign of life there. Curiosity had been his main reason to get in the cold with Tim to hunt. Just to see, just to make sure that Jason wasn't the real one, and didn't know about this secret hiding spot of theirs, when he wanted to flee the castle's blankness, or Kory's terrible moods. It was summer back then. He had shown Jason how to fight with his whole body here, how to throw himself at the enemy, how to slide between their legs to confuse them and escape their hits by hitting them first. He had shown him how to kill, poking at hay dummies. Jason had learned quickly, but never understood elegance, patience or balance. He hacked, screamed, kicked. Then he would have laughed a children laugh, called him a pretty bird and winked at him. That had been four years ago from the moment Dick stood with his horse in the woods, longing to go to the other side of the pond to see if a ghost was waiting for him.

A cracking branch too close to him made him jump. A red tail disappeared behind a bush. He breathed out, then noticed the buried hare was gone with the fox. _You’re making a fool of yourself._ _Again._ The rain was heavier by then, and he found a second snare. And a third, ten steps farther. Each time there was mutilated game laying for the foxes to eat. At the foot of the sixth one, Dick found Damian. The child was busy chopping off the paws of a small dead rodent, his hands covered in blood. The knight felt disgusted, and more than slightly disturbed.

 

"I am sure this is going to interest Bruce," he said out loud.

 

The heir yelped and turned a scared face at him.

 

"You wouldn't dare!" he hissed when he saw Dick.

"Why would I not dare? Why are you doing this, Damian?"

"I... I found them like this. They were already dead. I didn't kill them. And I... I just wanted to see what they looked like inside."

 

That was oddly innocent. But still gross.

 

"... Fine," the man sighed. "Come, we should head home."

"Why?"

"Snares mean people. People mean possible killers. If you don't want them to open you up and see what you look like inside, you should come along."

 

That frightened the child enough he tumbled to his feet and wiped his hands on his breeches.

 

"Where did you leave your crossbow?" Dick asked, helping the young boy on his horse.

"... I don't know. I don't care. Let's go home."

 

 _I might have been a little harsh_ , the knight reflected. A random chill made his hair stand up.

 

"So, Damian, how many game did you catch?"

 

Tim's voice was welcome to his ears, but suddenly he knew. He ran to his squire and tackled him to the ground without a word. An arrow stood in the tree right were Tim's head had been the moment before.

 

"What the... Oh."

 

The younger man swallowed loudly.

 

"What do we do?" he whispered, panicked.

"You have your bow?" Dick inquired.

"Yes."

"Give it to me. With the quiver."

 

Dick was awful with a bow, but he hoped Jason forgot that.

 

"Run to Zitka and go with Damian. I'll join you later."

"No."

"Tim. Obey."

 

He let his squire up, and protected him with his body as he got to the horse. He couldn't see his opponent, but the air was misting strangely around a rock by the pond's muddy edge. _He must have left the cabin to check on his snares._ Dick swatted the mount's leg and she went away between the pines and back to safety. He let down the bow, and it flopped on the drenched soil. If he were to die on the brownest bay ever found, by the moistest day ever felt, he wouldn't do it with arms in his hands. And he couldn't even draw an arrow with his wound.

 

"You love him more than you ever loved me."

 

Jason wasn't behind the rock anymore. He was brown too, with dirt on his face, and he was angry. He had picked up Damian's small crossbow, which looked ridiculous in his man's hands. Ridiculous but still deadly.

 

"It's not the same kind of love, Jason. I loved you as a friend, a shitty friend who was a boyish brat most of the time and a lethal warrior otherwise. I love Tim as a brother, and he never failed to act as if we were of the same blood. You can't compare yourself to him."

"I was so easy to forget. You were too busy fucking your summerwife to even mind me dying. You don't even care now."

"I care. I'm here now."

 

He scoffed.

 

"You're here to tell me to fuck off. You won't let me kill them."

"Tim never hurt you."

"He did. He does every day he helps Bruce forget I even existed."

"Bruce never forgot. He keeps your armor in his solar like some kind of... memorial."

"I don't care about him collecting pieces of steel. He let me die."

 

Dick rubbed his face, his nose all cold and runny. He was glad he hadn’t put on any makeup that day, or he would have made quite the sight, with smeared kohl everywhere.

 

"A lot of people died that day, you know," he said softly.

"No one died like me. I died for a whole day, Dick. A whole fucking day of agony."

 

The crossbow didn't matter anymore, and the knight took a step forward.

 

"I didn't know."

"Of course you didn't know. He broke every bone in my body. He made me watch as he skinned my men's face. To put a smile on their faces, he said. Some were still alive when he did that. I asked for mercy until he crushed my throat. And then he let me there. I tried to call for Bruce, I waited for him, and he never came. He never fucking came."

 

Dick was close enough to hit Jason now. He was close enough the arrow was sure to kill him, too. He hugged him instead, trying not to mind the crossbow poking his ribs. The other man pushed him off, and he knew something had stayed dead in the ironborn.

 

"He searched for you for weeks," he said after a while.

"I died because some moron tried to make a fire with a barrel of pitch. I died because the freaking thing exploded in my face. A whole day in the cold mud, everyone passing by thought I was dead already, and I couldn't even scream. No one gave me mercy but a dumbass with a barrel of pitch."

"He tried to find you. I should have been there."

"Yes, you should have."

 

Seafoam eyes let him see how lost Jason felt. Dick could understand that. He could understand since the day an Umber killed both his parents right in front of him because  _'they're only fools'_. Bruce had been ashamed when the man gave young Dick some coppers and a pat on the head, and he took him in as his son right then. Not his ward, his son. He had been really mad at Bruce for letting that Umber poke his father with his sword and grab at his mother with his fat fingers. He couldn't understand a word, either, since he couldn't speak the Common Tongue. Once he could, he had thought the castle was very gray, and that he was then with a new father, so he called himself Grayson, for he never had a name before.

 

"I'm sorry," he finally told the undead man in front of him.

"Are you really, pretty bird?"

 

The nickname sounded nice without the mocking undertones. Dick smiled.

 

"Why don't you want to kill me, too?" he asked, curious.

 

He had to know how he had escaped the wrath of Jason Todd, even if that meant pushing his luck.

 

"I owed you."

"You owed me?"

 

He smirked then.

 

"Some things are better left unsaid. But now I'm done repaying you. Next time you put yourself between me and Bruce, or that baby bird for all I care, I'll shoot anyway."

"That's nice to know."

 

It was less freezing next to another body, and Dick wasn't looking forward to the long rainy search for the horses ahead of him, so he shuffled closer, sniffing. He only then took notice of the raw hunger in Jason's gaze. He wondered if it was lust, hatred, or both, and then he didn't wonder anything at all because he was being bitten ferociously on the side of the mouth. It tasted of mud and blood, and he gasped in shock. It was short and his lip throbbed in pain afterward, but it was warm and it was something. Then the knight felt a harsh push against his chest and fell arse first into a puddle of brown water.

 

"Fuck you."

 

That was the last words he heard before Jason disappeared in the woods, leaving him cold and wet and dizzy. Dick shivered and got up.

 

"Fuck you too," he answered to the unmoved trees.

 

He waited a moment, just to see if he’d get any response. He got none. He poked at his split lip, puzzled, then started his horrible trek to Tim's horse, or Damian's pony, if they weren't gone already, and back to Waynecastle.

 

 


	6. Jason

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So this is the sixth chapter already, but heh, I have a hard time recalling every important event of the first book of GOT. If you have any idea, any major event I should add and not forget, please comment, I would love to squeeze it in the next chapter.  
> Thank you :)

...

 

An event was about to happen, and that was just his luck, really. The dumb guards were overcrowded with the lords and sers and their suites that had suddenly invaded the castle and its surroundings since the past week or so. He had darkened the flashy white hair on his head with coal and got himself in as some fat man's groom. The man didn't even protest, didn't even notice he looked nothing like the other young pimply lads that took care of the horses. He spotted the redhead chief guard that had took him to the dungeons and had told him about the wonders of Dick's arse for a while too long. He didn't arrest him, didn't see him at all, probably because he smelled like shit and looked like one too. He couldn't bring in any weapon, but he wouldn't have a hard time finding one, by the outrageous number of knights that walked around the yard and by the tents and pavillons outside the castle. Waynecastle's lord wasn't anywhere to be seen though, nor was his weird son, nor was Dick. Nor was the fucking replacement. He gritted his teeth and looked at a smith's apprentice trying on a shiny helm. Everyone had their dreams, Jason thought, and he wished his wasn't to murder a bunch of people.

The random event was an obstacle, for he couldn't stick a pointy thing up Bruce's guts and hope he'd get out of here alive. He didn't mind dying again, but he had the young squire to kill, too, and the Joker to torture and never let rest in peace. And he couldn't let Dick alone in that gloomy, cold, stupid castle either. Or maybe he could. He reflected he should try to stop caring for Dick, since obviously Jason didn't matter that much to him. Even though he came back to Westeros after he had died, as if he were waiting for him to return from his grave. The Dothraki has always had some kind of foreseeing gift.

 

"You there."

 

Jason jumped and reached for the dagger he didn't have anymore.

 

"What?" he said back to the drunken fat man who thought he was his groom.

"Saddle my horse, I need to go hunt."

 

What kind of moron had the need to go hunt? The fat man, Jason decided as he saddled a very strong stallion.

 

"It's going to get dark soon, m'lord," he told the soft ball of grease.

"Yes. I'm going to hunt wolves!"

 

He was so stupid Jason asked himself if his wits weren't lost somewhere in his belly. He hoped the man wasn't going to die, because that would draw unwanted attention on his suite, but he still wished to see him trip and fall on his own sword. He could help him fall, too, and chop through the fat like butter until he saw some kind of flesh underneath, or let his blood drain out of his body, and let the wolves eat him, and no one would know it wasn't an accident, and... Jason felt light-headed. The big retard wasn't the one he needed to feed to the wolves. _Keep up._

 

"Try not to get hurt, m'lord."

"I won't, I have jousting to win!"

 

Yet another weird tradition of charging against a friend with a fake pole.

 

"Hope you win, m'lord."

"I'll unhorse that Drake for sure. Man grown or not, he's still a green boy. About time someone teaches him his rightful place."

 

Drake. That was Dick's petty squire.

 

"He'll eat dirt, m'lord."

 

And his own teeth, if the horse would be kind enough to step on his face too. The fatty lord climbed awkwardly on the saddle, then laughed and went away to hunt. Jason didn't tell him he forgot to actually bring anything to kill game. _Stupid nobles_.

 

"So, if I get this right, as long as you owe me, you don't kill me?"

 

He turned fast on his feet and tried a punch in surprise, but Dick easily countered it.

 

"Now you owe me two punches."

 

He wanted to scream at him, but he had already gathered a few weird looks, so he exhaled through his nose instead.

 

"Sorry for the scare. Tim told me I'm too silent without my bell."

 

Dick was beautiful and smiling, wrapped in lavender silks and black furs, his cheeks rosy and his eyelids painted lightly of a fine golden line that ended about his temples.

 

"Come. We can't talk here."

 

The Dothraki meant to take his wrist, then let go, leaving a trail of fire. _He touched your arm, calm the fuck down._ Jason followed the man across the yard, letting him blabber about horses and bridles anytime someone came close.

 

"You do smell horrible," he commented, wrinkling his nose.

 

He disappeared behind a pan of mossy wall, and that startled the ironborn. Why was he doing that anyway? Jason meant not to care about him anymore and here he was, running after him like some kind of lost puppy. For all he knew he was about to fall head first into a trap, and die, or worse, be sent to the dungeons again. But Dick's hand grabbed him by the sleeve and towed him inside, and he scrapped his elbow on the stony wall and cursed.

 

"Where the fuck are we going?" he asked when he understood he was stuck between two walls, away from any going onlookers.

"It gets to the kitchen, you'll see."

 

The passage was narrow, for it meant only for the cooking smoke to escape the kitchen without letting too much cold air in. Jason didn't like it. It made him think of the small room he woke up to when his lungs burned him so badly he came back to life. When he dreamt about it he still felt the ashes in his mouth.

 

"Now, my little bird told me plenty of interesting facts about you," said Dick, moving smoothly in front of him.

"That squire of yours?"

"No. Damian."

 

The heir. That was an odd case, that one. He meant to kill him at first, when he found him playing around his game in the woods, but then he saw the kid being... so peculiar he decided it would probably anger Bruce more if the brat was to be the next lord than if he were to die. And he owed Ra's one, so killing his lone crazy grandchild wasn't an option.

 

"What did he had to say about me? He was a baby last time he saw me."

 

Actually, he was only a smaller child, but Jason wasn't having any fun in the narrow hallway of doom, so he decided he'd skip the details.

 

"He told me how you came back."

 

Jason scoffed. The brat had no way of knowing that.

 

"Sure he did."

 

There was a bigger opening, at last, and he almost jumped over Dick to reach it. The kitchen wasn't empty, but no one seemed to care if two men came out of the wall. Maybe the knight pulled this stunt often enough they were used to it by now.

 

"What did he say?" Jason demanded, just to laugh at the kid.

"He said R'hllor brought you back."

 

They climbed some stairs and he knew where they were going. But it couldn't be.

 

"Yeah, R'hllor does a lot of things."

 

That was all lies, though. Jason always thought it was a bit like the priest did it in Old Wyk, when they drowned men and made then cough out the water after. A fake death, his father used to say. But then again, he was still a kid when they shipped him away, so he could remember that part wrong.

 

"Ra's al Ghul breathed the fire of life back into you," Dick added.

 

Well, that was far from a lie, he admitted to himself. The other man opened the door and Jason couldn't help but to feel a little hotter. _He let you kiss him in the woods because he was surprised, he's not taking you to his room so you can bed him._ But that was no use. The thirst came like a flash of lightning. Only this time it wasn't for blood, like it had been in the ring against the soldier, with people watching. He wanted to get _inside_ Dick, to claw at him, to mark him, to leave trails of hurt on him. He wanted to taste that ridiculously luscious skin of his, to bite down, to taste his blood again, to lick and sample and see if it tasted the same as his mouth did, spicy and warm, so warm. He wanted to make him moan or scream or both, he wanted to grab him and feel if it was as nice as the redhead guard had told him.

Jason chewed down on his tongue, and dug his nails in his palms to keep from making a fool of himself. Dick would beat him to a pathetic pulp in no time, he knew. And some part of him that longed, some part that stayed through death somehow, that part still wished the Dothraki would let him do all of that willingly, some day. And that day wasn't to happen if he _tried_ to rape him like some witless moron right now.

 

"You should stop staring at people like that."

 

There was no way he was explaining to Dick why and how he was the only one stuck with the crazy stares.

 

"Why did you make me go here?" Jason croaked instead, words suddenly elusive.

"So we can talk. No one's going to bother us here. Even Tim's busy with his birthday plans, for once."

 

So it was the replacement's birthday. He decided that was unimportant and he watched the knight get rid of his furs, leaving him in a vaporous doublet and so very tight breeches. Dick hugged himself and licked his lips. Jason tried to restrain himself but just couldn't, and he was now definitely into the other man's space. He was taller than him, he noticed dumbly before spending too much time looking at the man's eyes growing bigger and darker.

 

"So," started Dick again. "Was he right? Is it really how it happened?"

 

It took Jason some time to understand they were still talking about his death.

 

"Yeah, I guess," he finally answered.

 

Dick laughed softly.

 

"You guess?"

 

He licked his lips again. The wanting was so, so strong, and Jason wasn't prepared for that, he couldn't know it would do that every time he'd see Dick. He cornered him between a cabinet and the wall.

 

"Why did you let me kiss you?"

“That was a kiss?”

 

He groaned. Of course, he hadn’t done it on purpose, and how was he supposed to control it when his mind wasn’t clear about whether or not it wanted him to tear his face off. He didn’t expect Dick to happen like this. He made the thirst turn into something else, and Jason didn’t like that.

 

“Yes,” he finally said, sounding weird and low to his own ears, “that was a kiss.”

 

The other man inhaled sharply, shrugging and avoiding his gaze.

 

"Well then… I... I was lonely and... I guess I was happy you didn't hate me, too."

 

He had hated him, sometimes. He had hated him when he was dying in the mud, alone. He had hated him when he woke up, broken and burning inside. He had in mind to hate him when he travelled north to Waynecastle. But he still somehow couldn't.

 

"Why did you push me in the mud after?"

 

_Because if I hadn't push you I would have taken you right there against a wet tree._

 

"Because I'm fucked up."

 

Dick chuckled, then sighed.

 

"I should go. They'll wonder why I'm not there for supper. It's the official birthday... festivities."

 

He didn't want him to go. He wanted to tear off the ugly clothes Dick had on and throw him on the bed and keep him there for a long time.

 

"Please stop looking at me like that."

 

 _I’m trying._ The Dothraki shivered and Jason had to know if it was from cold, disgust, or something else, so he settled his leg between the older man's and pushed slightly up. Dick closed his eyes and opened his mouth around a short pant.

 

"Jay..."

 

He hadn't hear that nickname since another life, and that drove him wild enough he rubbed harder. The pretty knight's head rolled back with a shaky breath, and Jason mouthed down his long golden neck, biting gently around the fast pulse, his nose filled with the foreign smell that was Richard Grayson. That got him a low moan, and fingers threading through his hair. _More_. It was too soft, it did nothing to tame his thirst, so he put his hand down where their bodies joined and squeezed. Dick hissed and groaned his name again, and that was too much for the ironborn. He bit down, hard. He had deserved the brutal slap in the face he got for it.

 

“That _hurt_ , Jay!” the older man yelled, touching his neck. “I’m bleeding!”

 

He knew, coppery aftertaste at the back of his tongue. It was fitting the color of his skin, he thought stupidly, his cheek still stinging from the hit.

 

"Why did you do that? Urg! Now I'll have to hide it!"

 

Dick pushed him away and opened chests and wardrobes to throw fluffy, uncomely clothes everywhere. Jason wanted to do something, he wanted to make him stop moving so fast, and he achieved that by grabbing his hip. He froze up, all his body halting and staying still.

 

"Let me go," he ordered stiffly.

 

He didn't let go. He wasn't good at following orders. Dick didn't hesitate and hacked his hand away. Well. Jason was always in for some fight. That he could deal with better than kissing and nice stuff like that. He grabbed both hips.

 

"I said _let me go_."

 

He didn't look at him. He was angry, the ironborn could tell by the slight shake in his arms. He hiked further up, sliding under the silk and over warm sides. Dick's heel hit his kneecap with so much force he had to step back and take a moment to analyze if he could still walk. An elbow then crashed under his ribs, ripping the breath out of him.

 

"You're still good," he wheezed with a pained chuckle.

 

Dick slowly turned. His frown, his clenched jaw, the beauty of his whole enraged features hurt Jason more than any of the blows had.

 

"You will leave me alone. You will leave my family alone. You owe me."

 

The Dothraki scratched above his eyelid, smearing some of the gold paint there. He sighed.

 

"You're not the man I thought you were," he went on. "You are dangerous. I... I don't know why I'm..."

 

He shifted his weight on his other leg with a gentle, enticing sway of hips.

 

"I don't know why I let... _this_ happen. Why I like it, why I like you even thought I don't know you. It just happens. But I can't let that go on as long as you're only staying here to kill us."

"I won't kill you," Jason felt obligated to remind him.

"You want to kill my baby brother. And I won't let you."

 

Keeping silence was probably the best way not to end up with broken bones, so that's what he did.

 

"If you only touch a hair of his head," Dick said gravely, looking at him right in the eyes, "you will pay for it. _I_ will make you pay for it. If you owe me, then you won't kill him. I've had enough deaths at birthday parties."

"What about Bruce?" Jason asked, since he hadn't come in the conversation so far.

"You can try, but I'll let Roy know you're here."

 

That was unexpected.

 

"They'll arrest me."

"Yeah, so? I'm trying to protect you, too, but you came back here. You have to go."

"And go where? I have nowhere to go."

 

Dick thought for a moment.

 

"Go to my place. I have lands."

 

He'd forgotten that.

 

"I won't go anywhere. Not until I'm done here."

 

The other man shook his head.

 

"The one you mean to kill isn't here."

 

He groaned.

 

"Jason, I have a deal for you. Just... listen."

 

He didn't have any choice, actually. He couldn't walk to the door and back to Dorne and forget about them all.

 

"If you go back to that... fucking moron..."

"Wait, what did you say?"

 

Dick never cursed, so he must have heard wrong.

 

"That imbecile killed my parents, so let us say I do not like him a lot."

 

Was he talking about the fat man that let him saddle his horse? Well, that gave Jason a good reason to push him on his own sword, after all.

 

"It's not even a real Umber, he's some bastard that thinks himself grand after he found silver on his lands... Anyway. Not my point. If you go back to him and keep on playing the groom, I'll have to tell Roy to close up the security around Tim and Bruce. And if you _try_ something still, I'll arrest you myself. But if you go now to the woods of Last Hearth, and find my... Well, that's not even a castle. Find my house, it's called Quiet Grove by the people there. Wait for me there, I'll join you, and I'll help you kill the wildling who did that to you."

 

Jason scoffed. Dick hated killing people, he knew that.

 

"Why would you do that for me?" he demanded, sceptic.

"Because I wasn't there for you the first time. And I want you to forgive me."

 

He wanted to stop feeling guilty about his death, Jason understood.

 

"I don't need your help."

 

Dick seemed saddened by the words.

 

"I won't let you hurt my family, but I won't let you get yourself killed either. So that's why I'm asking you to leave. But I thought that if we left together, you'd be more willing to let go of Tim and Bruce."

"So you're offering yourself as a hostage against your little page's life?"

 

He had to laugh. Dick smiled.

 

"I'll be the best ward, I swear," he added with a seductive smirk.

 

That changed the meaning of the deal. A lot. Jason meant to answer, to make sure he got everything right, but a knock at the door shut him up. Dick stared at the wooden door as if it'd grown an arm and said something offensive.

 

"Dick, are you there?"

"Y...Yes. Tim?"

 

The lock moved and Dick held it down.

 

"Don't get in, I'm... I'm naked."

"I've seen you naked. Let me in."

 

Jason raised an eyebrow at the sentence, and Dick shook his head no, mouthing _'Not like that.'_

 

"Give me one moment, Tim."

 

The Dothraki let go of the door and pushed Jason until he caught on and went to his fours. The ironborn took the opportunity to pull Dick down with him and lick his neck. He didn't want to go to that Quiet Grove, so he might as well do it one last time and lap at the dried blood there. The knight gasped and held him close for a while, then made Jason crawl under the chair by his bed. The door opened.

 

"What is taking you so long? We're almost up to the third course!"

 

The squire's voice was slurry. The boy was drunk. That amused Jason to no end.

 

"And Roy told me he wanted to make me a man, and I'm not sure I want that."

"You don't want that. He wants to go whoring with you."

"That's what I thought. Actually I thought he wanted to bed me for a moment and then... What happened to your neck?"

"It's... Uh... Got bitten by a dog."

"Whose dog?"

"Umber."

 

Tim made a disgusted sound.

 

"Say, you don't think Roy wants to bed me, right?"

"I surely hope for the well-being of his sorry arse he's not courting you."

 

Drake giggled.

 

"He can't _court_ me, I'm a man!"

"Believe me, he can try."

 

A bunch of fluffy silk fell near Jason and he was very glad he couldn’t see much of Dick behind the squire. The drunken replacement helped his master as Dick donned a high-collared jerkin instead of the lavender atrocity. The ironborn thought he looked even more attractive in the darker colors of his House, the midnight tones highlighting his gracious body. A summer sky blue nightingale rested upon his heart, and the simplicity of the attire was uncanny.

 

"You'll have to redo my makeup, Tim. I got it smudged by the dog."

 

 _You are a pretty bird after all_ , he thought. Jason waited until the makeup was fixed and after they went back to the hall, then sneaked out of the room and by the kitchen, through the narrow hallway of doom, as he called it now, and into the night, silent as a thief.

 


	7. Timothy

...

 

The first day was about archery, but it's on a spear that they had found Robert Snow, the Umber bastard, in the cold, crisp morning, just about his tent. The grooms all told the same story about him going to sleep drunken, waking up at some point in the night yelling at wolves he had said he heard nearby, and running outside naked.

 

"He tripped, probably, m'lord," had explained one of them, scratching the lice out of his hair. "He wasn't really good with walkin', y'know."

 

Bruce had agreed then, and some guards had disposed of the fat, naked corpse. The spear had stayed, fixed in the ground by the weight of the wolf hunter. Its point was broken and stained by the blood, and the decorative spirals around the shaft had seen better days. A joust lance, had thought Tim then, confused. It was quite a prowess to kill someone with a joust lance, even more to kill themselves. He had explored the Umber tent after, to find the rest of the weapons the big man had brought with him. A shiny spark had caught his attention, and he stole the tiny silver bell before anyone saw it dangling there amongst the other lances. _Dick must stop hiding things from me_. Tim's head was hurting from the night before, and he wasn't up to confront his master on his birthday tourney. He had won archery without much trouble, and the second day, in sword fighting, he had won too, even though he knew Dick hadn’t really slipped on a patch of ice in their match after beating to the last of the most powerful swordsmen without breaking a sweat. His shoulder was burning by the end of the day, and he knew that most of his opponents had been a little too much in their cups the past evening, and that his victory had been mostly luck and a small dose of actual skills.

But that day was jousting, and jousting was what mattered the most to Tim and the other members of the mountain clans. They all weren’t that much about the courtesies and ceaseless feasts of traditional castle lifestyle, but they surely liked to dismount each other and laugh about it afterward around wine or mead. Only Tim wasn’t here to laugh, and he decided drinking wasn’t doing him any good. _If I win today, Dick will knight me. He promised._ Only he hadn’t count on the new King in the North to ask for his bannermen’s attendance at Winterfell. Half the procession that had showed up went away at once. Even Bruce. _So much for being a man grown._ Tim couldn’t help but to feel a tad disappointed. Everyone seemed in a hurry to leave. Dick too. _He won’t leave before he explains himself to me_ , he thought with anger. In the moment the knight was helping his squire with his armor, the roles easily reversed.

 

“You sure your arm will be fine enough to hold the shield?” the older man asked as he slid a gauntlet on Tim’s nimble hand.

“Yes. I don’t have to move it so much with jousting.”

 

Dick smiled his heartbreaking smile and patted his squire’s good shoulder. On that day they were only a dozen jousting opponents, with two of them being unknown to Tim. Another one forfeited later in midday, for he received dark news from the south and urged back to his lands. So only seven familiar faces were before the young lord of Drakesclaw as the sun was up its most in a cloudless sky. The two mysterious men were probably squires, he thought. _Just like me._ Dick was really worried about them, and nearly bullied one into showing him his face. Afterward he sat, at peace, under the dais with Damian and Talia, and waved at Tim.

He dismounted the first faceless squire easily, after some slim knight from the Eyrie put a Manderly to the ground. Two down. He watched with attention as the other squire won his battle against an impressive Karstark cousin. The Glover man and yet another Snow bastard, but from a distant Tallhart this time, fell from their horses, dismissing both of them out of the contest. Tim was up against the second mystery opponent. He was tall, and he lifted his heavy oak shield as if it weighted nothing. _I need to win._ He urged on Zitka, Dick’s gray mare. It was a war horse after all, and she gladly went along its steed putting up with assaults. He cocked the spear against his elbow and breathed deeply. Tim flipped his visor down. The other man didn’t seem at ease on his horse, as if he didn’t ride so often. _There’s my chance._ He went for the hip as Zitka raced along the rail. The young lord tried to shield himself from the other’s lance, but something got caught on his shoulder blade, sending a dull pain all over his upper body. The point crashed against his gorget and Tim landed hard on the sand. His chest ached, and he had a hard time finding his breath. The small crowd of spectators were whispering, he noticed. There was blood in his mouth. He still couldn’t summon the force to get up.

 

“Oh the Seven help me, are you alright?”

 

_I just lost to a dumb squire and I can’t breathe, but I’m fine._

 

“Please tell me you’re not dead.”

 

He wanted to laugh, but that hurt.

 

“Mother, what have I done?”

 

Tim opened his eyes to consider the so pious man over him. That was his opponent, with his helm off. _I know him._ He moved his hand and the man grabbed it to put him back to his feet without any effort. The world spun for a while, and he got his own helm off to get something fresh in his burning lungs.

 

“I’m glad you’re fine. I really didn’t mean to get it there. I thought that I would get your shield. I’m sorry. I never really jousted before… Oh you’re bleeding.”

“I’ll survive,” he finally managed before spitting up the blood.

 

He had bitten his tongue when falling and it felt numb.

 

“I’m really sorry. You’re so good, I thought you’d hit me, so I tried to protect myself, and I ended up nearly killing you.”

“I know you,” Tim said, cutting short the rambling.

 

He couldn’t pinpoint where he’d seen him, though.

 

“I don’t think so, Ser.”

 

The tall man shied away from his gaze.

 

“I’m no Ser,” he said instead.

 

_Yet. Because of you._

 

“ _Conner!_ ”

 

The winner jumped and squeaked. Someone from the crowd was fast approaching.

 

“I leave you without supervision for a moment and when I find you you’re killing lords with that stupid… Did you _steal_ that spear Conner?”

 

That was the bald blacksmith that had repaired his armor. So that meant Tim had been unhorsed by the smith’s apprentice. What a disgrace. He remembered him beating up iron, with sweat down his back, and he felt very hot again under his heavy plate. From shame, of course.

 

“I didn’t steal anything! And I said I’m sorry!”

 

The smith hit him square in the face, and the big green gem at his finger let a bloody dent at the apprentice’s cheekbone.

 

“He forfeits, m’lord,” he told Tim.

“No. He won. And he did not kill me. I’m fine.”

 

The bald man looked even angrier.

 

“You should flog him or something, so he learns his place once and for all.”

“We do not flog people on the sole excuse of unhorsing birthday boys.”

 

Dick’s calm voice was very welcomed, and his hand soothing on the top of Tim’s shoulder.

 

“He still forfeits,” insisted the blacksmith.

“Good. Then we will go on with this tourney, shall we?”

 

His smile was very sharp, and the vexed man had no choice but to let go.

 

“Now, Tim,” he went on. “You should get to maester Alfred, and bring that young lad here with you, for his cheek.”

 

Dick’s eyes were painted green, red and gold, Tim’s and the winner’s colors. That made him realize he’d lost, and he didn’t dare look up at his master anymore.

 

“But m’lord, Conner doesn’t need no maester.”

“I insist.”

 

Tim went fast and took his opponent’s arm with him as he got away from the sandy ring and the gaze of the crowd.

 

“Thank you, m’lord,” mumbled Conner as they entered the castle.

“Is he your father?”

 

He wanted to know where that apprentice came from.

 

“I thought he was. He isn’t. My real father sent me a letter once. He says he was a prince somewhere, I don’t remember. Lex burned the letter.”

 

Tim scoffed. A prince. Of course. He had to give him the overall royal looks, with his long legs and chiseled features. He was very handsome, but not the same way as Dick was. Every place his master was curve, fine traits and warmness, Conner was straight, rough and stern. But maybe that was because he’d only got punched in the face, Tim reflected.

 

“You’ve been his apprentice for long?”

“Yeah. Too long.”

 

They climbed up, the ascension made awkward by their armors.

 

“Did you make it yourself?”

 

_Shut up. You sound like some swooning maiden._

 

“This?” the apprentice asked, poking his plate. “No. I only repaired it. I don’t own it.”

“Then you’re lucky there’s no scratch on it.”

 

It made him blush, and Tim had a hard time finding his breath again. _What is happening to me? Must be the shock._

 

“Your gorget is digging in your neck, you know.”

“I know.”

 

He didn’t know, in truth, but that explained a lot.

 

“You should get it off.”

“I can’t. My shoulder is… I can’t.”

 

Outside, the crowd was cheering for someone else.

 

“I’ll get it off if you want.”

 

_Yes I want._

 

“That would be very kind of you.”

 

Conner got his gloves off first, then let his fingers unclip the constricting material. Tim gasped in some fresh air when it fell off his throat.

 

“Thank you. You have nice hands,” he blurted out.

“Oh. Thanks. I mean, thank you, m’lord.”

 

Tim decided to shut up already and went on upwards, hating Alfred a little for choosing such a high tower to work in. He gladly knocked at the door when they reached it in a lingering silence.

 

“Come in.”

 

The maester’s chamber was very clean and organized. Even the raven’s cages were spotless, and the birds’ feathers all slick and smooth. They croaked as Tim and Conner walked through the walls of parchments and books, oddly dust free. Alfred spent a lot of time taking care of his study. The old man was busy over some papers but closed the inkpot as soon as he heard their footsteps on the stone floor.

 

“I feared for a moment that you would stay still for a long time in that ring, my lord,” he told Tim. “You should get out of those metallic garments so I could make sure you are still in one piece underneath.”

 

He quirked an eyebrow at Conner.

 

“And you, young man, attend joust like a stable boy. I will send for meat for your face.”

 

The apprentice bowed his head at the rebuke while Tim tried to get rid of his armor without twisting his shoulder, which happened to be quite impossible. Bruce had built an ingenious system for the maester to communicate with the kitchen without needing to walk down and up his tower, and so Alfred only had to write down what he wanted, and put the message on a small lifter that disappeared behind the wall as he rolled the rope in his hands.

 

“Stop moving so, my lord. You will worsen your state.”

“I’m fine,” repeated Tim for what felt like the hundredth time.

 

Alfred had only started to call him by “my lord” instead of “Timothy” since two days past, and he was still not accustomed to it. He let the maester strip him of everything but his linen trousers and he felt very naked in front of the stranger that was still staring keenly at his own feet. A bell rang nearby and the maester hurried to fetch the meat that had arrived in the lifter. Tim shifted awkwardly and felt even less at ease when he made eye contact with Conner. The apprentice turned his face hastily. The young lord fought his blush in vain as Alfred squished the bloodied raw piece of beef against Conner’s cheek.

 

“Hold it there, it will help with the bruising,” the maester ordered.

 

He went back to Tim, only to poke random spots on his body. He hissed when his shoulder was probed, and when his left side got touched.

 

“You tore some muscle in your shoulder, my lord, and you probably broke some bones here,” he said, brushing gently the sore part on Tim’s flank. “No more tourney or fighting for you, for at least two moons.”

 

He sighed. He wasn’t about to be a knight anyway, so it wasn’t such bad news. He then shivered, for the tower was quite chilly, and Alfred wrapped a blanket over him. Tim felt miserable.

 

“I should go,” suddenly said Conner, lifting the handful of meat from his face. “Thank you for the… help.”

“But your cheek…,” Tim started, before shutting up.

“It’ll be fine. I heal fast.”

“You’re going back with the blacksmith?”

 

Alfred had disappeared, shuffling through books farther up his study.

 

“I don’t have any choice,” the apprentice stated sadly.

“You could stay here.”

 

_Oh great, that’s so subtle, Tim. Tell him to share your bed too, while you’re at it._

 

“I mean,” he added, because he felt like he had to, “we have a smith here too.”

 

_Actually we never see him, and he left with Bruce, because everyone left._

 

“And he’s gone! So we need someone else.”

 

_We don’t, really, since Dick never bears arms, and Damian is still at wooden swords, and obviously I can’t even lift a dagger anymore. And Bruce is gone._

 

“You mean it?” asked Conner, his eyes big and hopeful.

 

Tim glanced at Alfred, who nodded softly.

 

“Yes, of course. I am a lord now, so I will need a blacksmith anyway.”

 

His smile was blinding, and looked very nice on his hurt face.

 

“Oh gods, thank you.”

 

He dropped the meat in the plate and walked up to Tim, who held his breath in surprise. The apprentice hugged the air out of him, squeezing him tight, blanket and all, lifting him from the ground.

 

“Thank you,” he said again, and Tim let out a small pained noise.

“‘Pleasure’s all mine,” he panted.

 

He was very glad when Conner dropped him, muttering about how sorry he was, how he didn’t think about his shoulder, and that he was, indeed, very sorry.

 

“I owe you,” the tall man promised. “I will make you the best arms in Westeros, you’ll see.”

“I will need them,” he answered, flipping his woolen blanket more manly around him.

 

The apprentice, well, the smith now, wagged his head happily. Tim’s heart fluttered in his chest.  _What have I done?_  he thought to himself, shaking hands with Conner.

 

 


	8. Richard

 

...

 

 

“You can’t leave like that. You can’t leave me and Damian in charge.”

“It’s only for a short moment, Tim. I’ll be back before you even notice my absence.”

“Is it because I lost the tourney?”

 

Dick sighed. His squire was desperate for some logical answer.

 

“No. And I told you I’ll knight you later. When I’ll come back.”

“Then I must go with you.”

 

He squeezed Tim’s good shoulder gently.

 

“You can’t. I need you to stay here and protect Damian.”

“He can protect himself! He hates me anyway.”

 

Bruce had let him to deal with the castle, for the news were rather dark in Winterfell. But he’d made a promise, and he knew Tim could hold on for a while.

 

“You will stay here,” he ordered a little more harshly, “and you will protect Damian and Lady Talia. You have to.”

“I am your squire. I ought to follow you.”

“Tim, no. You will do as I ask.”

 

The young man kept forming and undoing fists with his hands, his jaw set and his stormy eyes glaring at Dick with all the anger he couldn’t utter.

 

“I wanted to return to Drakesclaw,” he finally said. “I guess I will have to wait for you before doing so.”

“I won’t be long.”

 

Tim made a little windy sound with his teeth that sounded too much like a derisive noise for his master’s liking.

 

“I feel you have something else to tell me,” Dick let on.

“Yes, I do.”

 

Tim scratched the bruise in the middle of his throat, where the lance had nearly beheaded him.  _That would have been unexpected. And sad._ As long as the squire didn’t get himself killed while staying at the castle, everything would be fine.

 

“Go on.”

 

The young lord fetched something in the inside of his doublet. _Shit_.

 

“I found it in Robert Snow’s pavilion, after his death. I could think you’ve killed him, if only the last person I saw wearing it was you.”

 

He handed him the small silver bell. Dick took it back. It was stained, rust-like flecks on it. Blood, probably. A rush of emotions took him unaware. He was angry. He was glad. He was flattered. He was scared. But overall, he was even more curious to seek out Jason than he’d been before. _Why did you kill him for me? What if they’d caught you? Why are you back?_

 

“You are going to go to him, aren’t you.”

 

It wasn’t even a question.

 

“Yes.”

 

Tim made a pained exhale.

 

“Why did you give him your bell? You always wear it.”

 

_Because I thought he was the boy I used to know. ‘I’ll get you out of here, pretty bird. That place’s too dull for your feathers.’_

 

“He promised he would help me,” Dick answered.

“Help you with what?”

“Tim…”

 

He sighed. He might as well tell him. He was a man grown now, he could handle the truth.

 

“Bruce will come back after this war, and you will go to Drakesclaw, marry some pretty maiden, and start your life there. Damian will grow up, and become of age to rule, and I will have no purpose here. I cannot go back to Kory. Jason offered me something to do with my life. Can you understand that?”

“And what is that? What are you going to do that is so grand it’s worth leaving me in charge of a castle?”

 

Tim was exasperate. He was munching at his lips when he wasn’t talking, and his arms were crossed before him. His foot tapped a light beat on the ground.

 

“I’ll go on a trip to Essos.”

 

_Or so he told me. What if all that had been a trap? What if he’s left me with those hopes to die, cold and alone here? Then he’d get his revenge on me too. But what do I have left, except some petty hope a stranger would steal me away from the dullest place in Westeros?_

 

“But first,” he added, “I need to make sure he’ll stop trying to kill you.”

 

Tim turned, as if the sight of his master’s face was too much for him to bear.

 

“I know he’s good, deep down,” Dick continued. “He’s one of us, Tim. I only need some time to…”

“Shut up.”

 

 _Well,_ that _was lordly._

 

“If you are to go, go already. But stop trying to make it as if it wasn’t some selfish decision of yours.”

“Fine, then.”

 

 _I surely hope one of us won’t die, or else that dreadful conversation will haunt the other for a while_ , he thought morosely as he retreated down the stairs of the solar and to his rooms.

 

“Grayson.”

 

_Is it possible to leave this castle without having to talk to every single occupant of it?_

 

“Damian. What brings you here?”

“Mother told me you were leaving. Try not to die. Drake is the most incompetent imbecile, and I would not wish to see him as my regent.”

“I am not your regent. Bruce isn’t dead.”

 

The heir rolled his eyes.

 

“You understand my meaning. And we both know war brings corpses home more often than not.”

“Well, thank you for that bit of uplifting speech.”

 

Damian snickered and left, his white cat on his heels. Dick rubbed his face in his hands, feeling tired already. He changed to his riding attire, tied the bell to his wrist, and packed a small bag of clothes and furs. He considered it for a moment, then added some breeches and a warm jerkin. Maybe Jason hadn’t changed since he last saw him. _He must be so cold._ Dick washed his face from his daily makeup, and left to the stables. Alfred waited for him there, and he did all he could not to whimper in frustration.

 

“I will not turn this into emotional farewells,” warned the maester. “I am here only to make sure you wish to get messages at Quiet Grove.”

“Oh. Yes. That would be nice of you. You can leave the… land matters to Tim, though. But I would appreciate knowing if anything important happens. I won’t be gone for long.”

“I know.”

 

He handed him a small bag.

 

“What is it?”

“Food. I do know how well you cook, and I do not wish to see a starving man coming back to the castle. And I felt the need to add some book that our young ward used to love.”

 

 _So much for keeping it a secret._ Dick took the bag. 

 

“How do you know for…,” he started.

“Timothy is not the only one able to make some deductions, Ser. And you will want to use some vinegar to clean that bell of yours.”

 

He tied his bundle of clothes and the food to Zitka’s saddle with the maester’s help, and climbed on her solid back.

 

“Farewell, Alfred. Take care of them for me, will you?”

“Of course. Farewell, Richard. Do be careful.”

 

He nodded, and stirred up his mount outside the stables. It was dusk. He had meant to leave after supper, but Tim had hurried his departure with his fussing and questions. He didn’t mind. He liked the light better at that hour, for it was the rare times there were some colors at Waynecastle. And he was too lazy to wake up early enough to see the sun rise. And since winter was coming, the light was getting sparser, and even grayer, if it was even possible. A bit of sun was very welcome.

Dick loathed this place, and somehow still felt the need to stay. He had wrote back to Kory, telling her he wouldn’t come back to her, and that she should indeed take another lover as soon as possible. He had lied some, saying he had important tidings to attend to here, that he had to stay. It was for the best. This wedding had no way of ending well for either of them. He thought about marrying again, and felt very bored about it. He’d plan Tim’s wedding before his own, he decided. If he were to stay so long. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to deal with Lord Tim and weird Damian, and Lady Talia and her fires and Bruce and his… grayness. Even Roy was getting tiresome with his constant teasing. He needed to go away from all of them, for a while. He would go to Essos even if Jason wasn’t waiting for him at Quiet Grove, he thought to himself. Only for a while, to get some fresh air.

He made good time up east, and for once it wasn’t raining on him. It was long dark when he decided he needed to rest. He started a small fire, only to see where he was about. He opened the bag Alfred had left him, happy to discover some fresh bread and cheese for the night, and plenty of salted meat and dried nuts for the whole trip. He even had double portions of the smoked fish that Jason used to love when they were fighting in the Gift. He unsaddled Zitka and patted her some, telling her about what a good horse she was. He let her walk around and spotted a comfy enough tree. Dick put out his fire, walked a bit and climbed the tree with his belongings. He warped some fur around his shoulders, tied himself and his bags to a sturdy branch, and doze off.

He woke up way too late, feeling stiff. By the gray sky and his rumbling belly, he knew it was almost noon. _Yet again I overslept._ Zitka was munching around the tree, still alive, and not stolen. He untied himself and his belongings, jumped to the ground and stretched some. His breeches didn’t allow much movement though, and he groaned in frustration. He ate some of the nuts, and wild raspberries he found nearby, then gulped down handfuls of freezing water from a spring. He saddled Zitka. The silence in the woods was almost unbearable to him. He didn’t like not to talk to anyone, and it hasn’t been a day yet.

 

“You know, Zitka, I’m not sure who I should marry Tim to. He needs a strong woman, but not too strong, because he has quite a temper himself. I should talk with Bruce to establish the list of candidates. That could be my gift to him, right? He would be grateful, I think. But you know, I’m afraid he might go away once he’s a knight. I mean, he wouldn’t need me anymore. And he has a home he wants to go back to so much…”

 

The horse let out a loud whiny.

 

“I know, Zitka. I should let him go, if he wants to. Drakesclaw doesn’t seem so bad in itself. Only, everyone there is dead, and it’s the least strategical position ever held, and if he does return there he’ll probably die… And I wouldn’t let that happen, Zitka. You know how much I love him.”

 

He shivered, then, and stopped talking. Zitka didn’t agree and produced a confused neigh.

 

“Shh. I think I’ve heard something.”

 

There were voices nearby. Lots of voices. Dick promptly dismounted, gathered a few things and slapped his horse’s haunch. Zitka went away in a rapid trot and he climbed in the nearest tree as she vanished between the pines.

 

“I swear I heard a noise, like a horse or somethin’.”

 

The branch he was perching on gave out a loud creak.

 

“There’s no horses, you moron,” came in a familiar drawl.

 

Jason. That was Jason. That had to be Jason. What was he doing with people? _He ambushed me,_ Dick realized with a pained wince.

 

“See, no horsey. Now come on already, we have that place to get to…”

“Eh, boy, tone down the attitude, I’m still leading here,” came in a third man. “And that place you told us about is farther than we thought, so you should shut up and walk faster.”

 

Dick saw him then, and Jason saw him too, looking up. _He knows I always hide._ A moment passed, and he said nothing. _He said nothing. He didn’t ambush me._ He let out a shaky breath.

 

“Now look at that!”

 

Dick jumped in surprise, but the third man was speaking about the few clothes he dropped when he climbed away from sight.

 

“There was a horse there, look at the mud on the ground,” he went on.

“Well now it’s gone,” answered Jason.

“Shut up.”

 

They were five of them, including the ironborn. He could fence them off, if he wanted to. But did he want to? The branch answered for him, finally breaking down under his weight and sending him to topple over the ground a few feet lower.

 

“No horse, right,” commented the first man.

 

Dick decided he didn’t want to look at Jason right now. He didn’t want to see if he was to fight with him or against him. Instead he picked up a solid, sturdy piece of the tree that had just betrayed him and got into a defensive stance.

 

“Look at that poor fellow, no sword, and he thinks he can beat us all?”

 

The men laughed and clumsily unsheathed their own blades, mostly rusty and too heavy for their farmers’ frames. _Outlaws_ , Dick thought. Nothing he couldn’t handle. He didn’t wait and smashed his branch against the nearest man’s knee. He went down in a yelp, and his old longsword burrowed itself in the wet soil. Dick got him again, in the back, and the outlaw didn’t raise after he went face first into a puddle of mud. He felt another one behind him and he ducked, hearing the soft swooshing of the steel in the air as it missed his head. He kicked blindly, and his assailant grunted. Dick turned around and punched the man square in the face. His hand hurt, blood seeping from his wound, but he had to ignore it, to do as if he didn’t mind the warmness running between his fingers. He raised his eyes to look around, and noticed one outlaw had ran away, and three were lying on the ground. The one he had just hit was crawling slowly from him, until a rusty blade landed between his shoulders. Then he went still, spluttered more blood, and died.

 

“Isn’t that great how we keep running into each other?”

 

Dick kept his gaze on the murdered crawler at his feet. He wasn’t faring so well, and was feeling very dizzy all of sudden.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

He wasn’t.

 

“You killed him,” he finally managed.

 

He heard Jason snort a short laugh.

 

“He was trying to kill you a moment ago, if you hadn’t notice.”

“I was doing fine, you didn’t need to kill him.”

“... Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t see how fine you were doing with that stick against four armed men just now.”

“I was doing fine!”

 

He leaned back and was relieved to find some tree trunk to catch his weight. He tried to breathe deeply, like Alfred showed him, until the world stopped spinning around him.

 

“Are you going to faint? Fuck, you’re such a pretty face.”

“Just kill me already,” he muttered.

 

Obviously, Jason was going to do that. He had picked up a sword from one of the outlaws, and still had it in his hand. Dick hoped that he would use it as swiftly as he did for them, at least.

 

“I won’t kill you, Dickface,” he said, letting the rusty blade go. “I just killed the men who wanted to kill you, and I’m sure that it would have been easier to let them try you first and then finish you off, raid your house like I planned, and get back to Wayne to end that whole crap revenge thing.”

“Bruce left for Winterfell. He went to war.”

 

Jason’s expression fell into something darker, and Dick shivered.

 

“That bastard. I’ll get him before some random lion does.”

 

The knight sighed and rubbed his eyes with his good hand.

 

“Can I go now? Or do you want to explain how you plan to murder my adoptive father in further details?”

 

The ironborn laughed and shook his head.

 

“Nah. I’ll keep you with me. You offered yourself as my thrall or something, back in your bedroom.”

“That was _if_ you stayed away, and you didn’t. You killed Robert Snow. And I didn’t offer myself as a slave, I only said I would help you.”

 

Jason made clicking a sound with his tongue.

 

“Yeah. No. Still keeping you as my thrall. Or my salt wife.”

 

Dick swung the branch at Jason and got him on the side of the head.

 

“What the fuck was that?” screamed the man in front of him, holding his bleeding brow.

“I am no one’s wife,” he said, and hit again.

 

This time, the undead ward caught the offensive stick and held it, tearing it away from his grasp.

 

“I’m rethinking killing you now,” he growled.

“Keep thinking.”

 

Dick had grown up with acrobats, knives jugglers, wire walkers, fire breathers and sword eaters, in a world where one moment of distraction could cost you your life. He could see Jason’s punches way before the man started to throw them, and dodged easily. The younger man was good, as he had always been, but he was slow, and the strange and sudden bulk he had put on since his death didn’t make him any faster. After a while of suffering insults and almost-connecting kicks and fists, Dick had had enough. He crouched against a tree stump, and bounded into the ironborn’s legs, sending him harshly into a pile of wet brown leaves. Before Jason could roll over and go on with useless limb movements, Dick kneeled over his legs, digging painfully his knees into the man’s thighs and squatting to keep him from kicking his way out. He caught a flying forearm as Jason tried to flip them over and kept it in a tight grip. He reunited both of the ironborn’s arms in an awkward twisting position from which Jason couldn’t escape without popping out a few bones.

 

“Who’s the salt wife now?” Dick said, out of breath.

 

Jason thrashed under him, but he didn’t falter, and held on closer. He got a mean hiss for answer.

 

“Stop that, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“Fuck off,” spat his trapped opponent.

“Not before you listen to my conditions.”

 

The seafoam eyes were attentive, even if the snarling mouth tried to cover it.

 

“I will let you go, but only if you promise you will stop trying to murder my family. Yes, even Bruce. I don’t want you to even consider hurting Tim again. We will hunt down the Joker together, and then we will see what happens. Deal?”

“No. You can’t kill me. You can’t kill a man, you’re too much of a…”

 

Dick kneed Jason violently in the groin before he could finish off his sentence.

 

“I won’t kill you,” he agreed, “but I could break you, and let the wolves do the job.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” the other man grunted.

“Probably not. But do you want to bet on it? If you anger me enough…”

 

Jason loudly exhaled under him. His face changed, and he put on a gentle smile, but again his eyes betrayed his thoughts.

 

“Come on pretty bird, let me out. I won’t touch your stupid squire, but leave me Bruce. You don’t even care for him. He doesn’t care for you, if he left to Winterfell without you.”

 

Dick wasn’t impressed. Even Roy was better at seduction than that.

 

“Another thing,” he added, jerking the arms around until Jason stopped smiling and winced instead, “you won’t call me ‘pretty bird’ again. Nor ‘Dickface’. You will call me by my name, or Dick, and you will not touch me without my consent. Is that clear?”

 

Jason nodded slowly.

 

“No. Say it.”

“Fine. I won’t touch you, even if you moan nicely when I do it.”

 

This time, when he twisted his grip, the man cried out.

 

“Fine! I won’t do anything, I’ll follow you around like a sweet puppy and obviously not kill anyone since we’re not going to Winterfell. Now let me go before you screw up my arm, or worse.”

 

Dick obeyed and freed him at once.

 

“See, that wasn’t so complicated,” he joked, scooting farter.

“What’s complicated is not touching you when you’re grinding like that.”

 

That gave him a pause, and he realized he was straddling him in a rather intimate fashion. And he wondered for how long Jason had been aroused without him knowing about it. He was confused between standing up and start walking toward Quiet Grove, or staying there in the warmth. If he was being honest with himself, he didn’t mind sitting on something nicer than the wet ground, and he appreciated Jason’s presence, against all odds. Dick had always liked being wanted, and men were much blunter with their desire, less used to hide it like women were. Kory did bed him with enthusiasm about an hour after she had invaded his ship, but she wasn’t like any woman in Westeros. He rolled his hips slowly, earning a soft sound from the ironborn under him. He closed his eyes, enjoying the warm, thrilling feeling that ran down his spine. He knew he wasn’t being fair. This was inappropriate, and he didn’t intend to actually act on it any further…

 

“Are you really taking that much time to consider if we should fuck or not?”

 

Dick huffed in displeasure, opening his eyes. He glared at Jason and got up, disgusted.

 

“You were that close of getting me a lower back massage,” he told Jason, gesturing a small distance between his fingers, “and then you opened that big yapping mouth of yours. Get up. We have a lot to walk, and a horse to find.”

“Urg.”

 

He poked Jason with his toes until the man climbed up to his feet.

 

“Come. We’re on a journey now.”

 

That got him a short bitter laugh, and Dick smiled.

  
  
  
  
  



	9. Conner

...

 

He liked it better in the castle, but it was colder than the shop had been. Even more when he has to sleep in the kitchen, with the cooks and serving boys. The soil there was hard, freezing rock, with food stains and smells of cooking oils and old meat leftovers. But the smithy was so clean, and well furnished, and he could work alone for hours without being yelled at by his not-father. He didn’t feel clumsy or incompetent, at last, even though he didn’t get the chance to see his new master again since the tourney. He had repaired the armor he had bent with his lance, made a new gorget to replace the broken one, fixed the helmet too, and now he was waiting for Timothy Drake to come over and tell him he did a good enough job. Or not.

But the young lord was very busy ruling over the castle, he had heard. Conner didn’t understand where the former lord went, and why the handsome knight with the makeup wasn’t the castellan, but he couldn’t dare to ask anyone about it. He didn’t enjoy speaking with strangers, and so he didn’t make a lot of friends, except maybe the tiny jumpy boy who was the main groom. He had to deal with him anyway if he wanted him to get the horses shoed. He liked spending time in the stables, with the few gentle mares and the old stallion he knew belonged to his new lord.

 

“Hi Conner.”

“Good morning, Bart.”

 

He nodded in the groom’s direction, and went to check on the horses. To his surprise, there was a big gray mount in the box near the stallion that hasn’t been there the day before.

 

“We have a new horse?” he asked Bart.

“Nah. That’s Ser Richard’s mare. She came back from Mother knows where, but without her rider, you see.”

“Is he dead?”

 

The groom shrugged.

 

“Probably. There’s outlaws and wicked northmen up the roads nowadays. Ser Richard is quite the fighter, but they might’ve been many after him. She’s lucky she escaped.”

 

He patted the mare’s haunch and it whined loudly.

 

“She talks a lot.”

 

Well, that explained why the knight wasn’t in charge of the castle then. Conner wondered if his elusive master was much attached to the man, and hoped he wasn’t.

 

“Did you tell someone? About the horse?” he went on.

“Oh yeah. The Commander showed up to poke around and ask questions, and he looked pretty sad if you want to know everything. Word out there is that he and Ser Richard were, you know, really close.”

“He must worry, if they were close friends.”

 

Bart snickered.

 

“Sure. Friends. Anyway, now we take care of the horse, until Lord Prissypants over there decides otherwise.”

“Who’s Lord Prissypants?”

 

Conner had a hard time following the fast and blurted speech of the groom sometimes.

 

“Tim. You know, looks like something smells bad most of the time, could be really nice if he didn’t take himself for Aegon the Conqueror… Would make a pretty maiden if you ask me.”

“You mean Lord Drake,” he said, trying to forget the last weird part about his master being a maid.

“Yeah, that one. Didn’t see much of him lately. Usually he always goes out to walk around on his horse, you know, for fresh air or whatever, but I guess it’s too dangerous now that Lord Wayne’s at war and that Ser Richard got himself killed. Can’t believe the witch’s spawn’s going to rule us. That brat is friend with the Stranger, I’ve always said that. It’s only in a few years, but still.”

 

Conner had no idea what he was talking about, but nodded anyway.

 

“Maybe I should go ask him if he needs anything,” he thought out loud.

“Tim? Well you can try. Not sure if he cares for any of us, but heh, you did nearly kill the guy, so maybe you two share something special now.”

“Maybe.”

 

He went to exit the stables, but Bart ran after him.

 

“Heh, when are you going to shoe the horse? She has mud everywhere.”

“Later. You should clean her before I do anything, or else it might get dirt up her soles, and you won’t like that.”

“Yeah. Sure, I’ll do that. See you later then.”

 

He finally left him be to walk about in the cold midday light. Conner had actually no clue where to go to find his master, and couldn’t know his way into the castle yet, for he was only used to the kitchens, his smithy and the stables, all located outside of the rocky walls of the hold. He found himself in the cooking quarters, where luncheon was being prepared, and he stayed and watched for a while. He decided the narrow doors the serving girls were using were safe enough for him. If someone asked him what he was doing there, he could say he was lost, and that wouldn’t be much of a lie. So in there he went. He climbed a few steps, dodged a running maid with empty glasses in her arms, and got out to a bigger staircase.

He knew this way. That was where he went, for the maester who put meat in his face and got Lord Drake naked in front of him. That had been awkward. Well, the maester could be a good place to start, so he got higher and higher in the round tower. He knocked at the door, and promptly a voice told him to get in.

 

“I did not expect you, young lad,” said the old man from his study, keeping his back to him.

 

How he had known him without looking up, Conner did not know, but he was impressed.

 

“Well… Uh… I was searching for m’lord, actually, but…”

“You only missed him. He was sitting right here a few moments ago.”

“Oh.”

 

The maester turned and smiled at him.

 

“Why did you wish to see him?”

“I heard… The groom told me Ser Richard’s mare got back without him, so… I thought I might… I just thought I’d tell him I’m sorry about it.”

 

The man hummed lightly.

 

“That is a very selfless intention, but fear not. If I may share this secret with you, Timothy is very aware Ser Richard is in no harm.”

“Oh that’s good news,” he answered happily.

“We just received a raven from him telling us he lost the horse to a few outlaws, but that he was fine.”

“Why did he go in the woods like that?” bluntly asked Conner, very confused about that whole getting lost in the forest for fun business.

“He went looking for a friend, and he found him. Now let us hope they make it back here in one piece.”

“I wouldn’t want to meet with a friend in the woods these days,” he said out loud.

“Depends on the friend, I suppose. Now, I noticed I forgot to give our mutual acquaintance this important parchment. Can you read, Conner?”

“No, maester,” the smith admitted morosely.

 

Lex had never let him learn his letters, and even when he had wanted to understand his real father’s words on the message he had received one day, he had to ask the cobbler to read it out for him, and it did cost him a few coppers too.

 

“Perfect. Give this to Timothy, if it please you, and you could offer him a game of cards, or some other amusements. He dearly needs it.”

“Will do.”

 

He hesitated a while, picking up the secret roll.

 

“He is in the solar, my dear boy,” added the maester with a shiver of mustache. “All you need to do is to climb down this tower, turn left, and climb up again. You should happen to be in front of a dark wooden door with many painted bats on it. Knock before you enter, for I am afraid our current castellan is awfully nervous.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

 

Conner nodded twice, and took his leave. He followed the maester instructions and soon was standing in front of the painted door. Relieved not to be lost again, he knocked. A short yelp answered him from the other side.

 

“Damian, I told you to bugger off already,” came his master’s voice. “And tell your cat to stop leaving dead birds on my books.”

 

Conner cleared his throat.

 

“Um… This isn’t Damian…”

 

The door swung open so suddenly the smith nearly bumped on it.

 

“It’s you? What are you doing here?”

 

Lord Drake looked very tired, but not unpleased to see him. He smiled, happy to see the young man and handing over the parchment.

 

“The maester told me to give you that. Don’t worry, I didn’t read it, I can’t read. I didn’t even try.”

“Oh,” he whispered, taking the note. “That’s… Thank you.”

 

He waited a while, staring into nothing and standing very stiff.

 

“Please excuse me, I’m forgetting my manners. Come have a seat,” finally said the lord.

 

Conner went in eagerly, fascinated by all the painted arms and shiny precious objects all over the solar. Timothy closed the heavy door behind them and locked it.

 

“You are very afraid this Damian might show up,” tried Conner while poking at a golden sphere that spun slowly on itself.

“Yeah… He’s been harassing me with… rumpus about what Jason really is, and he wants to exchange that information against my right to rule over Waynecastle for now on, so let’s say I didn’t agree to that deal. So yes he knocks about five times a day, and it’s very annoying, and really, I’m sorry I’m ranting so much. How are you faring in the smithy?”

 

Conner let the shiny mechanism be and shrugged.

 

“It’s clean and nice to use. Kinda cold though. I wish I didn’t have to sleep with half the kitchen staff either.”

 

He looked over at the young man, who was busy doing nothing and blushing near his work table.

 

“Are _you_ alright?” he asked.

 

That startled him, and he avoided eye contact while answering that everything was fine. He then went on and opened the letter and read it fast before throwing it away.

 

“Was it good news?” the smith inquired, worried about his master’s behavior.

 

That got him a short nervous laugh.

 

“Yes, everything is doing perfect. I’m turning crazy here, dealing with Damian and getting awful letters from Bruce that still thinks Dick’s here taking care of everything. But no! Of course he’s not here. He’s too busy bedding the enemy or whatnot! Maybe that’s the trick. Dying and coming back, then he gives you the attention you deserve.”

 

Conner didn’t know what to say, so he slowly approached and patted his master’s tiny shoulders. They were really hard and tense, he noticed sadly.

 

“Why are you touching me?”

“I… I didn’t know what to do so… You looked… I’m sorry.”

 

He removed his hands.

 

“No, no, it’s fine,” protested the lord, turning to face him. “I… didn’t expect it, that’s all.”

 

Now up that close he understood what Bart meant when he said he would be a pretty maiden. With his long eyelashes, pointy fair face and flushed cheeks, he was sure to make a few noblewomen jealous. And his hair looked so soft…

 

“... Why are you staring at me now?”

 

One eyebrow was quirked over big soft blue eyes.

 

“I… I’m sorry.”

 

His master huffed a smile.

 

“You keep saying that.”

“Do you want to play cards?” Conner blurted, suddenly remembering what he was doing there in the first place.

“Why… Yes. Why not? Do you have any game in mind?”

“... No, m’lord. I actually don’t know how to play. I’m sorry, m’lord.”

“Oh Mother, stop apologizing for nothing. And call me Tim already. And it’s fine, I’ll show you.”

“Thank you m’lo… Tim.”

 

The name felt strange in his mouth, but he liked it.

 

“That’s your nickname, and you let me use it?” he wondered.

“Yes. I hate _Timothy_. It’s so long to say. And it doesn’t sound very scary.”

“ _Tim_ doesn’t sound scary either.”

 

He laughed and produced a set of cards from his desk.

 

“I know. But I like it better.”

“But I’m only the smith. I shouldn’t call you _Tim_ ,” decided Conner.

“I was hoping we could become friends, actually. As my friend, you would have the right to call me Tim.”

 

He nodded in agreement, and _Tim_ set the cards on the table.

 

“You need to sit to play. Take the chair over there.”

 

He obeyed and sat.

 

“So, do you have a nickname, Conner?” asked the young lord as he poked around and flipped a few cards.

“No. Conner is the nickname. Because my real name was too weird, Lex said.”

“Really? So you need to pick up your cards and look at them. Don’t tell me what hand you have. You need to place the next number over it. See, now that’s a five, so you need a six, if you don’t, then it’s my turn.”

“I understand.”

 

Tim played a few cards in his hand, then picked new ones.

 

“What is your real name then?” he said while Conner was busy figuring out what came next to the nine.

“Kon-El.”

“That’s pretty.”

 

A moment passed.

 

“I’m sorry, do you know how to count?”

“... No.”

“Oh.”

 

He shook his head and picked up the cards.

 

“I’m so sorry. Here, let’s play another game. I’ll tell you when you win or not, and it’s easy because you can follow with the drawings.”

 

Conner felt ashamed, but his new friend didn’t seem to think any less of him because of his poor knowledge.

 

“I could call you Kon, if you want.”

 

Tim was smiling and mixing the deck of cards.

 

“Yes, I like it.”

“Perfect. And you know, Kon, when this… awful moment will be over, when Dick is back, and if you want to, I could teach you letters and numbers.”

“That would be really great,” he said, feeling warm inside at the generous offer.

 

Tim handed him new cards and he looked relaxed at last, so Conner decided Bart would have to wait to get his horse shoed.

 

 

  



	10. Jason

...

 

He knew he fucked up the moment he woke up and Dick was lying next to him, huddled in the furs. He didn’t know how it had happened, but he felt sick about it. Jason got up. He needed to go away from the sweaty makeshift bed, from the Dothraki soft breathing, and from the weird idea of staying at all. _You’re the moron who thought it’d be easy and great to follow him around alone in the forest._ He deserved it, he decided while picking up some of the clothes they had left to dry in front of the hearth. The rain had washed most of the dirt, but had left both of them drenched by the time they had arrived at Quiet Grove. It was quiet indeed, though mainly because the place had already been ransacked and burnt down. Only the stone kitchen was left, and that’s where they had set camp, with Dick’s many complains and little help. At least that day promised to be sunny, as no cloud was to be seen in the early light.

 

Jason put a toe in the nearby lake. It was cold as the Wall’s icy arse, but it was better than stinking the way he did. Sure, they had washed up, but a small wet cloth was nothing compared to a big natural bath. He left his belongings on a rock and entered the freezing water. He ached all over, and the cold kept his body busy enough not to think. He had all the time in the world since Dick wouldn’t wake up for a while longer, but the lake made his hands and feet numb and his breath catch in his chest, so he scrubbed away the crass fast and got out in a hurry. _I could make food_ , he thought, shivering as the cool wind tried to dry him, _at least some kind of fire_.

 

He went back in the kitchen after putting on his clothes, struggling to get the fabric over his wet skin. Dick was now sprawled on all the furs, looking much like those sticky starfishes he used to find on the coast when he was a kid. A very enticing starfish, though. _Fire and food_ , he reminded himself, averting his gaze. There were a few embers still burning in the hearth, so all he had to do was to rearrange some dry wood and brushwood, and soon the fire was all pretty and dancing again. The food would be trickier. First, it was way too close to the handsome starfish, and Jason didn’t like that. He hadn’t like it any other morning either. Stepping near Dick sleeping always ended up with the urge to put his hands on some part of the coppery skin. He didn’t want to test his restraint any further. _Not after yesterday_.

 

So outside he went again, with the idea of hunting instead. He had rope enough to set some snares, and he did that for a while, even though it was risking someone finding the traps and then finding them shortly after. And that was useful only if they stayed there for a few days, and Jason wasn’t certain he’d like that. At least walking was doing something, but staying put in a burnt house would probably not end well. Dick said it was to receive answers to the notes he sent by raven. That had been weird to watch, the Dothraki calling birds out of the sky with a singular whistling tune. Jason wondered when and where he learned to do that, and if the birds were trained or if that was only random ravens answering their mating call. They would know soon enough, if no answer ever came to Quiet Grove.

 

Jason got his bow out once he was done with the snares. He had stolen it when they got close to a village, and then told Dick he had found it in a tree. Dick sleeping most of the day had its uses. He waited and listened, hearing the faint gurgle of some wild turkey nearby. Maybe that was actually a normal farmyard turkey that escaped, but anyway now it was luncheon, he thought as he shot. He picked it up and cracked its neck, for he had missed its heart and didn’t kill the bird with his arrow and it was cackling loudly in distress. It was a poor bow after all, but it did the job. Jason took his time to feather the turkey, empty it and chop off the nasty parts Dick wouldn’t eat, then skewered it and went back inside to let it roast over the fire. It smelled good after a while, and he heard his belly grumble at the thought of food. Dried fruits and salted meat was fine, but fresh roasted game was something else.

 

Jason felt some shuffling behind him but wouldn’t look. Ignoring Dick was always the best option, or at least until it turns awkward. A gentle hand came resting on his shoulder, squeezing lightly.

 

“Good morning,” croaked the sleepy voice, followed by a loud yawn.

 

It was almost noon now, but Jason was now used to Dick breaking his fast when he was already thinking about what to eat for supper.

 

“Did you sleep well?” the man went on.

“Yeah,” he answered, his own throat sore from not speaking all morning.

 

He tried a glance at the Dothraki, only to regret immediately, for he was very naked under the woolen blanket he had draped himself in. Suddenly, everything came back in a rush, his mind hazy and spinning. _Dick’s soft voice in the dark. The need. The taste of his skin on his tongue, the sweat pooling down the curve of his spine, the way his back arched so nicely under him, the soft pants turning into loud moans, how his body shook in the end, the heat of him, the unbearable heat…_ He had tried to forget, because that was only a dream, should have stayed a dream, a foggy false memory. Only now it wasn’t, and Dick had a nasty bite-mark in the meat of his shoulder, where Jason had bitten down, blood flowing in his mouth as he’d reached his pleasure. The thirst had been gone then, all of sudden, his mind at ease for once, and he’d fell asleep like that, not knowing it would come back as soon as he’d wake up. And now it was worse.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

Dick was concerned, because of course he was.

 

“Yeah,” he finally managed, watching the turkey with more attention than it truly deserved.

“Good.”

 

There was a pause, and Dick sat with him by the fire.

 

“About yesterday…,” he started again.

“No,” shortly said Jason, because there was no way he was to talk about it now.

“I… I’m sorry.”

 

He shouldn’t apologize, not after what Jason had done to him.

 

“I should have asked you first,” Dick mumbled. “And I understand you’re not fine with that.”

 

 _What the hell is he talking about?_ Jason thought, aghast. He had asked alright, whispering in the middle of the night that he wanted him, breath warm against his neck, his fingers trailing down his chest. He could’ve said no, probably should’ve, but he didn’t, because no one in their right mind would say no to that, not after so many days of pathetic lusting. _As if you were still able to think at that point, you moron._

 

“And… It was selfish on my part,” Dick kept on, “and I don’t want you to feel… used…”

 

He needed to shut up, and fast, so he pushed him. He yelped and fell back.

 

“I said I was sorry. No need to hit me.”

 

He fumbled back to his knees, the blanket sliding to the side. He had bruises along his hip. Angry, desperate groping bruises. _Shivers when he dug his fingers in the supple flesh, Dick’s groans muffled by the furs, the smell of him sticking to his skin..._ Jason felt sick again. There was a time before his death when he’d realized he had a bit more than admiration for the Dothraki knight, back when he spent many nights against Dick’s bedroom door, listening to him and his summerwife, a hand down his breeches, and he noticed he wasn’t waiting for her moans as much as his. But that was it, teenage wondering amongst other things, amongst other people too, and then he had died, and death had somehow turned that into... another kind of feeling.

 

“Jay, please say something.”

 

He glanced his way, and saw big blue eyes tearing up as Dick hugged himself tightly.

 

“Don’t cry,” he tried.

 

That didn’t work and Dick sobbed once.

 

“Come on pretty bird, I didn’t push you that hard.”

 

This time he got a hiccupped laugh. He stood and removed the turkey from the fire before it burned, put it on a flat rock they used as a plate and cut it into pieces.

 

“I’m sorry about…,” Jason began, gesturing at the hurt flesh on Dick’s side.

“Oh I don’t mind,” he countered softly, picking up the meat and wiping the tears from his face.

“I’ll clean your shoulder, after.”

 

He nodded, shivering from a sudden gust of wind, and buried himself deeper in the wool.

 

“I need to know if we’re alright, Jay,” he said after a while, poking at a piece of turkey.

“Yeah, we are,” he answered, since obviously Dick needed to be reassured.

“So you’re not mad?”

 

He was, but at himself.

 

“No I’m not.”

 

Dick let out a shaky breath, then went to fetch the dried food over their sleeping pile of furs.

 

“I usually don’t ask so many questions after,” he began with a small smile, returning to Jason’s side, “but I must admit no lover ever _pushed_ me before.”

 

So they were lovers now. Jason didn’t know how to handle the word. He guessed there was no better way to say “almost strangers that once knew each other and now shared a bed once and it probably won’t happen again”, but he still didn’t like it.

 

“You talk too much,” he said instead, and that wasn’t a lie.

 

Dick huffed and finished the turkey before fishing a few nuts out of the bag and handing it over. He fixed his makeshift robe and rolled away back into the furs on the ground. They had been lucky any were left in an old chest under a staircase, or else they would have settled on the cold stone floor.

 

“What are you doing?” he asked the ball of blankets.

“I need a nap. Turkey always makes me sleepy.”

“You can’t be real. You just woke up.”

“I didn’t get enough sleep with all that heat sharing we did.”

 

Jason liked heat sharing better than being lovers. He shrugged at him and went on cleaning their plate in the lake, and wet a piece of cloth. He checked on a few snares, but they were still empty. With the sun out and basking the woods in light, it was very warm and pleasant, for once.

 

“You should go outside,” he told Dick as he knelt beside him with the wet cloth. “It’s not freezing, you’ll like it.”

 

He got a grumpy growl as an answer. He peeled off the blanket from his shoulder and grunted at the sight of the bite-mark. It looked like he’d intended to actually eat a mouthful of the flesh there. _Sultry gasp when the skin broke._ He gently dabbed on it with the cloth to remove the dried blood, and Dick groaned and complained it was too cold. Jason wasn’t known for being patient, and he decided his heat sharing partner was too much of a prince to his liking. He got up and grabbed the lazy human caterpillar, holding him like a very heavy flour bag. He was glad Dick was all lean muscles and almost no fat, and that he didn’t struggle too much.

 

“What are you doing? You can’t carry me like that!”

 

He went by the lake and Dick had the same reaction a scared cat would, wriggling like a worm, kicking in his robe and clawing at his back.

 

“You can’t do that. You wouldn’t dare do that. If you drop me I’ll kill you, I swear this is not funn…”

 

He threw him in the lake, blanket and all, in a big screeching splash. Dick’s head emerged and he yelled a long string of curses in his mother tongue.

 

“I fucking hate you,” he added, pointing at Jason.

“You reeked, and now you won’t. Scrub a bit while you’re there.”

“I’ll die of cold and I’m stuck in that… Was that a fish?”

“Yeah, there are eels.”

 

The Dothraki screamed and the ironborn suddenly wondered if he knew how to swim, then remembered the lake was shallow enough to walk out of it.

 

“Your feet can touch the ground, Dick, stop flapping your arms so much, you’re pushing yourself down and you’ll drown.”

 

He listened and slowly made his way forward, shaking so hard Jason started to regret the whole lake idea. He made a pretty show of coughing and crawling on the rocky shore, the blanket still tangled around his legs. Well, maybe he did nearly drown. Dick was now flopped on his belly, panting and soaked and glaring at him with all his strength. Jason thought his skin was beautiful in the sun, shining under the pearls of water. The bite-mark didn’t look so bad once cleaned, mostly bruise and soreness and not so much of a cut in the flesh.

 

“I don’t like that watching me drown arouses you,” Dick said through chattering teeth.

 

He couldn’t answer to that without sounding like a fool, so instead he picked up the drenched blanket and wringed it as best as he could.

 

“I won’t forget this any soon, believe… Stop grabbing me like that!” he snapped as he tried to kick his way free from Jason’s grasp.

“I thought you were too weak to walk,” he answered, letting Dick go.

 

He didn’t know how the Dothraki managed to still be attractive, naked and shivering, standing there in the woods and being furious and wet, but he was, and he wanted to keep him close and get his hands on his body again. Right now. But that was a bad idea, from the look of his frown.

 

“I’m not weak,” he hissed, and stormed back inside the burnt ruins of his abode.

 

Jason knew that if he could, he would lock himself in and leave him outside, so instead of following him he went to check on his snares again, and make sure no one was around their secret camp. He placed the blanket over a low branch, hoping it would dry by the night. Two hares were caught in the farther traps. There was a lot of game around Quiet Grove, and he hoped it would last through the war. _Why? It’s not like you would come back here after._

 

He didn’t know what he would do after, in fact. Sure, he would kill Bruce and the Joker, but then what? Hopefully he would die doing it. Or survive, and take Dick to Essos like he promised. He pictured the Dothraki in the sun and whatever dusty sand there would be. It would suit him well, better than the north, and better than the Iron Islands. A proper bed would be great too, with fluffy pillows for Dick to sprawl on, naked and smiling, and he really shouldn’t think about such things again.

 

Jason sighed and picked his hares. Pissed or not, Grayson had the fire and he’d have to put on with him if he wanted to eat again. He walked back, satisfied with the absolute silence of the woods, except for a few birds chirps and trees shivers. This place was great. It was far enough from the roads no one would bother them, and the only villages around were small and uninteresting. And the lake circling the house kept a clear view of the surroundings. They _could_ stay there for a while, he thought.

 

Once in the kitchen, he was surprised to see Dick had made tea and had picked enough of the last summer berries to fill a few pies with. Not that they had anything to bake pies, but Jason didn’t know how to count berries otherwise. Handfuls? At least half a dozen handfuls of berries, then. And was that a cooked fish laying on the plate? The man was awfully efficient once awaken from his everlasting slumber.

 

“About time you come back,” grumbled the knight from his spot on the furs.

“Missed me already?” he joked, fixing the hares above the door for a later meal.

“I’m freezing and the fire cannot go any bigger. That is because my hair is still wet. And this is going to be a cold night, I can feel it.”

“Really? Can every Dothraki tell the weather, or that’s only you?”

 

Dick made an unamused clicking noise.

 

“I hate being cold,” he added, voice low, eyes shining.

“I can’t do much about that,” Jason said, since the fire was indeed going on at its best.

“Can’t you now?”

 

He was smiling softly, glancing up at him through his eyelashes. Jason went still. His whole being only wanted to vault forward, his mind begging to take a break, because this was too much, Dick was always too much.

 

“Aren’t you hungry?” the ironborn tried in a pitiful diversion attempt.

 

He wished he’d shut up when Dick groaned in annoyance and pushed aside yet another one of the blankets he kept producing from nowhere. He still wasn’t wearing any clothes.

 

“Supper will have to wait.”

 

And with that he squirmed gently and slightly parted his long perfect legs. Jason croaked something that was meant to be a polite refusal but ended up as an awestruck whimper. Dick laughed and patted the ground next to him. The want again, stronger now that he knew what it was like. The need to touch, to make sure all of it was real as he knelt and obeyed the silent order and got closer. Dick was breathing fast, his eyes blown and dark. He wanted, too, he realized in an overwhelmed bliss. _Only heat sharing_ , was his last thought of the night before the thirst took over.

 


	11. Damian

 

...

 

Damian was aware he shouldn’t read his mother’s correspondence. He knew it, but he decided that he didn’t mind the consequences. _She wouldn’t punish me anyway._ What he found in the many letters didn’t please him in the least, though.

 

“Why didn’t Mother informed him Grayson is far from being in charge?” he sharply asked his cat. “It doesn’t make any sense. Father wouldn’t tolerate Drake sitting in his throne, and he would return at once to oust him!”

 

Damian was unhappy with the whole situation, and even more with Drake giving orders around and refusing him access to the solar. He had tried yesterday to get outside and hunt Grayson to get him back home already, but Lady Talia forbid him to do so, speaking of outlaws, darkness and unfaithful men. He understood at some point how the jester rambling the woods to befriend the ghost was shameful, and that was probably why his mother kept silence about it. At least, it seemed to upset Drake to no end, and what pissed Drake off was always welcomed.

An older letter spoke of Sansa Stark being kidnapped. Damian had no idea who that was, and cared little. He threw the missive away. He flipped the parchments and finally found something war-related.

 

“Here Lofti. Interesting information.”

 

He read it with attention. _‘I am afraid we had to wait to cross the waters. We are stuck at the Twins, and the river has grown huge with the rain. The Freys are still waiting to let us use their bridge over the Trident. The Young Wolf and the old Frey are speaking of betrothal to one of the Frey girls as a token of their alliance.’_ Damian grunted in disgust.

 

“Never mind, those are only wedding plans!”

 

He couldn’t believe his father fancied such trifles. What was he to do with Robb Stark being betrothed to a Frey maiden? Who cared? People like Drake, probably. He wrinkled his nose. Starks everywhere. When he’d be the lord, Damian decided, he would war them off and become the new King in the North. Keeping on reading, he found out he wouldn’t have to kill a lot of them, since all that was left were girls and young boys. And half of them went to the Wall or something similar, or stuck with the child king at King’s Landing. _I would make a better child king._

 

A rushed scripting taught him their army had been victorious against Jaime Lannister in the Whispering Woods, succeeding at capturing him. That made Damian happy. He did not like the Lannisters. _Father told me I should always be suspicious of a Lannister_ , he thought proudly to himself. _I bet he didn’t tell Drake that._ He noticed he hadn’t bothered the falsely named castellan so far this day, and since his mother’s letters proved as boring as Alfred’s history teachings, he could as well do something else and go pester him.

 

His father had been gone for months now, going south and following the Young Wolf into many victories against the lions. Damian didn’t like it, didn’t like that Grayson was gone too. Maester Alfred had told him many times that the knight was fine, only walking around in the woods, but now the lording didn’t believe him so much. The last news they got from him was over a week ago. Anything could happen in the dark forest around. But Damian stayed strong, and passed most of his time planning to push Drake down a flight of stairs to end his miserable life once and for all. His high pitched giggles were driving the Wayne heir insane as he climbed to his father’s quarters, and so he opened the solar’s door to make it cease.

 

“Could you shut up already?” he cried as he walked inside.

“For the love of… Damian, how many times did I tell you to knock?”

 

He glanced at the situation about. Drake’s pet was there, looking surprised, but mostly annoyed, and always dumb. The castellan himself was in his bathrobe, feet naked and pale against the cool floor. Damian snickered to himself. _Keep on trying to seduce him, you poor, pathetic mongrel._

 

“Dressed for a nap, I see,” he went on.

“I… I just woke up. Had a hard time sleeping last night.”

 

Drake did seem rather tired. His dog was nodding stupidly at nothing.

 

“You worry too much,” he said softly to his master, and Damian growled.

“Father would never let you keep such a gross animal in his quarters,” the child hissed. “This is disgusting.”

 

Drake didn’t react and poured himself a cup of tea.

 

“Do you have some reason to be here Damian? If you want you can join us, Kon was about to teach me that game the groom told him about.”

“And let his paws put dirt and… _crass_ upon me? You are a fool if you think I would agree to such madness, that is what you are. A fool. And also, go put on some clothes, this is inappropriate!”

 

Drake rolled his eyes and sighed, taking a seat in front of that bland smith he got fond of and kept around at arm's length all day long. Damian knew, he could see, and his mother had told him enough tales about princesses in love, that he was certain the Drakesclaw lord didn’t blush so often out of sickness. Unfortunately for him. He also knew that the cretin in front of him had no idea, thus why Damian decided he was a witless creature. _Maybe he thinks his face is always beet-red by now_ , he joked to himself.

 

“Do as you please,” Drake was saying, “but this game’s called Cat and Kittens.”

 

He hated that. He hated Drake because he _did_ like cats a lot, even when in stupid child games like this one. And by the many pieces the game needed, all of cats of different shapes and colors, it did look fun enough to make him forget about the dreadful reading he did up in his mother’s study.

 

“Fine,” he conceded. “But only for one match.”

 

He finally stayed up to luncheon, after what the dog made it clear that he would bite at the next insult thrown at him. Damian shrugged. _How am I supposed not to make fun of a dimwit, ignorant smith?_ The fool had won twice and hadn’t notice, for he couldn’t even count his kittens. Drake had to tell him he had enough kittens to escape the farm to rescue the mommy cat, and then again when he had the mommy and had to come back. _This game would be greatly improved by holding real cats instead of lead ones._

 

“The only interesting thing about this play was the kittens,” Damian said as he was leaving his favorite purple piece on the table.

“Really? Kon made them himself,” said Drake with a proud smile.

 

He huffed and didn’t believe him.

 

“They’re really beautiful,” the young man in the bathrobe added, poking at the bigger mommy cat.

“I’ve made them for you,” his pet replied.

 

Drake went red again, and Damian wanted to puke.

 

“This is sickening. I shall leave.”

 

He didn’t want to see them _flirting_. They had wasted enough of his precious time. Now he had to choose between going up to Alfred and risk being told about Aerys the First for hours, or go downstairs to his mother and look at her weave for a small eternity before he could eat again at supper. _I need to make friends_ , he suddenly realized. Drake had been friends with Grayson, before he noticed his squire was very lame and that running around after ghosts was way more interesting. But Damian had no one like this. Of course, he wouldn’t go so low as Drake did and go fetch himself a best friend in the commoners, no. That would be way below him.

 

He went to his chambers and picked up Lofti, who was sleeping in a ball on the bed. The cat had peed on the carpet again, so he barked at a passing serving maid to clean up the mess. Then he joined his mother in the great hall. She was chanting softly, staring into nothing, holding spun wool in one hand and a handkerchief in the other, and he disliked it.

 

“Mother?”

 

He approached gently, holding her fingers.

 

“Damian,” she whispered, squeezing his hand gently. “My poor, sweet boy.”

“What is it, Mother?”

 

Lofti went around her feet with loud purrs and green eyes watching.

 

“The flames, my dear. They told me a horrible tale.”

“Tell me.”

“Winterfell burned.”

 

 _That’s it?_ Damian thought, puzzled.

 

“Who burned it?”

“I couldn’t see. But the North is falling, my son, and your father will fall with it.”

 

Damian didn’t want his father to die, not really. Not now. He was too young to rule anyway.

 

“The North falls and the winter is coming,” Talia went on. “The darkness will be upon us all soon. We need to return home, Damian. The fire never freezes in Dorne.”

“I cannot go to Dorne, Mother. I shall rule Waynecastle one day, and that day will not happen if I fly like a coward.”

 

His mother shook her head, brows furrowing.

 

“So I gave life to a northman after all,” she said to herself. “If you must stay, my son, I will stay with you and fight at your side.”

 

He knew his mother was very impressive when angry, but he wondered if she would fare well with a sword in hands. And the picture was a bit weird to him.

 

“Who are we going to fight?” he asked. “Wildlings?”

“That, and worse things yet. Spawns of the darkness, enemies of the God of Flame and Shadow. Undead with cold hands and frozen hearts, minions of the Great Other.”

 

He was scared, now, and really wished his father was home. Or at least Grayson. Grayson wouldn’t let any scary undead in, and if they were already dead, he wouldn’t mind killing them again. Maybe that’s why he went after the ghost.

 

“They won’t be victorious, Mother. Do not worry so. I will take care of them and return them to their graves. The God of Light is always with the ones He saves, and obviously He did not return them to life. They are a fraud.”

 

Talia smiled.

 

“I am very proud, my darling. You are very courageous. How could you not be, with a father such as yours?”

“And a mother such as you,” he added.

 

She laughed.

 

“I think you are ready for your training. You are not to defeat such monsters without proper fighting skills.”

 

 _At last._ If he were lucky enough, he could even be knighted before Drake.

 

“Who will train me?”

“I will have to concert with your father about it. It shan’t be long.”

 

 _As long as it’s not Drake. Well, at least I could easily arrange an accident this way._ He felt happy about the news. He could be a warrior like Lord Wayne was, and ask Grayson about those weird moves he does when he fights. That would be awesome.

 

“Lady Wayne, if you have a moment.”

 

They both turned to maester Alfred, who had appeared in the room as silent as a cat.

 

“Yes, I do have a moment.”

“This… is a rather private matter, my lady.”

 

He looked at Damian.

 

“He can stay,” cut Talia. “How is he to be the next lord if he cannot know what his lands are about?”

“Well… If you insist.”

 

Alfred gave a missive to her. It had the bat seal of the Wayne House indented in the wax.

 

“A letter from Father!”

“Beloved,” Talia said lovingly, holding the parchment close to her heart.

 

She opened it, and Damian read above her shoulder. When he was done, he kicked the chair so hard it flew and broke against the wall. Lofti left the room in a sprint.

 

“It cannot be!” he screamed.

“I will wrote back to him and fix this,” Talia said, and got up to her chambers to do so immediately.

 

Maester Alfred nodded and left him too. _It cannot be_ , he thought again, punching the table. _He_ was the true heir, not Grayson! _I am the lord, not him. He will stay in those woods, or I will make him regret ever coming back._ He hit the table again. And again.

 

 

 


	12. Richard

 

...

 

After so much time spent in the woods, Dick was desperate to get home. He felt gross, stinky, and couldn’t bear the tacky feeling of his own dirty hair on his head. And there was Jason, seemingly unbothered but the mud sticking to his face and clothes. Alfred had given him a blade to shave, and that was the only thing still keeping him sane and not looking like some kind of lost beggar. He missed his bath and his perfumes and his makeup. And his _bed_. At the moment, Dick would have given about anything to get Zitka back and get fast to Waynecastle. But he didn’t own a lot, and obviously no one was around trading horses.

 

“You know what I hate?” he told Jason. “The bugs biting me all the time.”

 

The ironborn huffed.

 

“They’ll all die when it gets too cold. Or maybe they’ll die now if you tell them yet another time how much you hate them.”

 

He picked his makeshift bag of belongings from his right shoulder and placed it around his left instead.

 

“You don’t understand. I don’t _dislike_ them, I _hate_ them.”

 

Jason didn’t answer and yawned. He followed shortly after. The lack of sleep made everything weight a lot more, even his own clothes.

 

“Can I get the first watch tonight?” he asked.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because,” slowly explained the other man, walking forward, “you sleep until noon when you get the first watch.”

“I deserve to sleep until noon if I stay awake until midnight.”

“No, you don’t deserve so many hours of sleep if I don’t get them too.”

“It’s not my fault if you wake up so early!” Dick raised his voice, angry.

“Be grateful I do, or else you would stink _and_ you would starve.”

 

He was too tired to push him or hit him, so he did nothing and shut up. They argued a lot more since they didn’t share their furs anymore. Jason wanted to have one of them awake at night to make sure nothing attacked them or stole their food, and Dick couldn’t find how this would be a bad idea. But now he was exhausted and the bite-mark on his shoulder was fully healed, and so was his hand. He was dying to know what happened at Waynecastle so important he had to head back at once. Alfred’s letters were always awfully short and forthright, but this one was imperious. _I hope Tim didn’t die._

 

“Fine, you can take the first watch.”

 

He turned to the other, surprised. _He must think I sulk to get what I want._ Well, it did get him what he wanted.

 

“Thank you,” he said after a while.

 

He almost offered for them to sleep together, but he knew Jason would refuse. It was Dick’s fault, for pushing him away on their first night outside Quiet Grove, saying he didn’t want an outlaw ambush to occur while they were doing that. The ironborn took the advice very seriously and hadn’t touched him in weeks. He had tried to convince himself he didn’t miss it, but he did. An awful lot too. He wondered how that would go if he got Jason back in the castle. Would they keep on sleeping together, or was he literal when he said it was only heat sharing? _What was the idea of saying that, too_ , he scowled himself. They had a hearth in almost every bedroom, so there was no cold excuse. Dick would sometimes worry about that, and then remember Jason was weird and wanted to kill a lot of people, and the anguish would go away for a while.

 

Mostly, he was being mad at himself. He could’ve stayed happy with intense, rough mating, but no. No, he, being picky as usual, wanted to do that face to face, like humans, and not like horny dogs, only for once. Maybe even with a few kisses, something softer, sweet whispers, anything. The first night he had tried, Jason had flipped him over again and he hadn’t insisted any further. But at the second attempt, a few days later, he had fought back. He had been so angry at the ironborn for forcing him on his belly again, he had yelled so hard, calling his name in vain, until he had finally succeeded at maintaining Jason in front of him and noticed the wild confusion in his eyes. He hadn’t seen much of his face afterward, only a mop of tangled dark hair streaked with white as the man kept his forehead against Dick’s chest, took hold of his hips and slipped between his thighs. He got himself a new aching bite above his heart when Jason spent himself after a few fast and hurried thrusts. Only then did he really _looked_ at him, not as a piece of meat, but as he did before, when he was younger and had to stare up and not down at him. As if he was there for the first time, after so many nights together. Merely a peek before his face fell against Dick again, but it meant a lot, a wisp of hope.

Then Jason had shivered, whispered something into his skin and went on quick and deep between his legs, went on until they were both done and over, and on still to a point where every nerve in Dick’s body was aflame in a mix of pleasure and pain, his breath short and unsure what to beg for, fingers raking helplessly the other’s shoulders. Once he had spilled a second time with a soft groan and gone still after a long, long while, the ironborn hadn’t move from his place on the other man’s torso, falling asleep on the spot. The knight had spent the rest of night stroking his sweaty hair gently, asking many silent questions about the puzzling white curl above Jason’s forehead, and thinking that it had been way too close to lovemaking for what he had intended to in the first place. The fact that he’d liked it so had disturbed him. Thus, the day after, when they shared their furs in the dark again, Dick had let him roll him over and take him as he faced the ground without a word in protest, soaking into the thoughtless, simple lust.

 

But now he wondered, and wanted to try again, to glance and make sure Jason was always there with him while they were busy fucking, and not gone to some special place in his own head. And that meant being under a roof, and that roof was still awfully far away.

 

“What is going to happen to me when we get back?”

 

Dick jumped in fright. Jason’s voice was annoyingly deep and loud in the silent woods.

 

“I don’t know. What should I do with you?”

“Not being returned to the dungeons would be great. Also, not sharing a room with the replacement.”

“Oh no, I meant for you two to share a bed,” Dick gasped in faked affliction. “There goes my plan to make you befriend him!”  

“Hilarious,” Jason said, deadpan.

 

Twigs cracked under their feet.

 

“There’s a bed I wouldn’t mind sharing, though,” he added after a moment, playing with a pinecone he’d picked earlier.

 

Dick smiled.

 

“I bet Damian wouldn’t mind.”

 

The former ward threw the pinecone at him, and snorted a laugh.

 

“You’re a moron. I’ll get my own room.”

“I’ll see that it’s next to mine,” Dick promised with a smirk.

 

He could move Tim in another room, and get Jason in the bedchamber with the door giving to his. _If his Lordship of Drake would be so courteous and assent to this..._

 

“I guess you already have that redhead guy to keep you warm,” mumbled the ironborn. “I’d say the bed’s big enough, but I’m not sleeping next to him.”

 

_Shit. Roy. I forgot about Roy._

 

“He’s not my bedmaid. He doesn’t stay to sleep.”

 

Jason made a face at him.

 

“And we’re not… lovers.”

“You should make sure of that with him. The man’s pretty hooked on you. Keeps talking about your arse to whoever’s stuck listening to him. And by the things he says, he knows what he’s talking about, too.”

 

_Of course he would yap about it to anyone he sees. I’ll need to make him shut up, and fast._

 

“We… We used to be lovers, but now we’re not, so he won’t be there. You won’t walk in and see him naked or anything.”

“Sure hope not. Freckled rumps aren’t my favorite.”

 

They walked on near the main road, close enough not to get lost but far enough no one would see them without stopping and looking for them.

 

“So, is the cook going to tell me how good you are in the pillows too, or…?”

“That’s none of your concern.”

 

Dick actually never had that many lovers, unlike what hearsay would tell. But it was still a very intrusive question.

 

“I don’t ask you who you bedded before,” he began, “so don’t ask me either.”

“The list would be so short it’d turn awkward.”

 

The knight huffed.

 

“Jay, I know you went whoring with your friends, back then. No need to lie.”

“And how would you know if I actually touched any of them?”

“Why wouldn’t you? You were ten-and-five and rich enough to pay.”

“True. But I never bedded a whore.”

 

_If I had the guts to go downtown at his age and under Bruce’s eyes everywhere, I would’ve taken the whole opportunity, and not only pretended I did._

 

“Why?” he asked, confused.

“Because I respected them too much. Still do. It’s not an easy job.”

 

_What in the name of the many gods does he know about that?_

 

“That’s… nice of you.”

 

A few minutes passed in silence.

 

“I’ve never bedded a whore either.”

“You don’t have to, with that pretty face of yours.”

 

He chortled. Jason kicked a rock.

 

“So what did you do when you were younger, before you went and got married to that pirate princess of yours?”

“I was betrothed,” he answered simply.

“And?”

“And we were in love.”

 

The ironborn smiled smugly.

 

“So you didn’t wait, you lewd bastard.”

 

Dick threw his arms over his head in weariness.

 

“No, we didn’t wait. We were sure we’d get married before the next moon, but then instead of getting a husband she got a ram right in the belly. It crushed her against a wall, nearly cut her in half and broke her back and we all thought she were to die, so we cancelled the wedding.”

 

Jason didn’t look so smug anymore.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“She’s fine now. She can’t walk, but she’s fine.”

 

The road ahead turned left, so they had to leap over a small stream.

 

“Wait. How does someone end up with a ram in the belly?”

 

Dick sighed.

 

“When the wildlings raid. You’re not the only one the Joker ever hurt. She was at the door trying to see what was happening. And he decided he wanted to open that door.”

“Really? He did that?”

 

He bit his lip. _I shouldn’t tell him that, this is well in the past._

 

“Yeah, he did.”

 

_And then he raped her and made her father watch._

 

“So I don’t mind at all if you kill him,” Dick added.

“I’ll be glad to do it.”

 

They were almost over the forest and to the mountainside by then, and this was good news with the sun setting already. _I should write her a letter, to make sure she’s fine. Maybe she even found a good husband now, someone who doesn’t mind a barren, crippled wife._ He felt sad, knowing that had little chance of happening. _Maybe I should marry her after all, then._ And say farewell to any son he might’ve had.

 

“Fuck.”

 

He turned to Jason.

 

“What?”

“Horses.”

 

They knelt in the mud, waiting behind a big pine. Dick looked past the trees to the moving group. Knights by their armors, with strong horses. He couldn’t see their arms in the dusk. But then one of the mount let out a loud whiny, and he knew.

 

“Zitka!”

 

He heard Jason curse behind him as he ran toward his mare.

 

“Ser Richard?” one of the man said.

 

He was from the castle guards. He’d seen his face once or thrice before.

 

“Yes, it’s me! I know it is hard to believe but...”

“Dick!”

 

He got swept off his feet and hugged in a metallic embrace.

 

“Father have mercy, I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Good evening, Roy,” he chuckled as his friend let him touch the ground again. “So tell me. What happened? Why did I need to come back so urgently?”

“Oh, plenty of things. Lord Wayne sent a letter about his heirloom and legacy.”

“Why?”

“In case he died in battle.”

 

That was weird, but not unlike him.

 

“So? Damian shall rule us all into fire and despair? Is that why I had to hurry?”

“Actually…”

 

The guards had unmounted, and now bent a knee, helms off and held close, a fist to the chest.

 

“... You are to be the lord of Waynecastle, Ser Richard.”

 

He took a step back. This couldn’t be happening.

 

“But Damian…”

“He’s the son of Lord Wayne’s wife, but you are the first son nonetheless. He pressed that point a lot in the letter.”

 

Dick felt dizzy. _They’ll all hate me. Damian, Lady Talia, Tim..._

 

“I… I need to confer with Alfred on this.”

“After a good bath, yes,” said Roy with a smile. “You walked alone all this time?”

“No I…”

 

 _Jason_. He turned to the woods in a panicked rush. No one to be seen. _He must have fled again._

 

“He was with me, poxface.”

 

All of sudden every sword was drawn and the Head Commander was between him and the ironborn.

 

“Calm your horses, gingerbread. You wouldn’t want to hurt the new heir’s ward, would you?”

“Is that true, Dick?” asked Roy between gritted teeth.

 

_Ward? Why can’t he be there by choice, for once?_

 

“Yes,” he admitted. “Don’t hurt him. He’s to be returned at Waynecastle as a guest.”

 

The soldier didn’t move.

 

“Roy, let go. He saved me from outlaws and helped me survive in the forest all this time. Without him I’d be long dead. He repented himself. Let him go.”

 

The Commander sheathed his blade slowly, and so did the others.

 

“This is your decision, Dick. You ride with him.”

 

Zitka was happy to see him, but he had to shush her down so he and Jason could climb on her back. The rest of the journey was dead silent and awkward until, at last, the fires of Waynecastle appeared above. No one was around the portcullis when they arrived, way past supper time.

 

“Good girl,” he whispered to his mare, treating her with carrots and a handful of oat.

 

The guards let them walk around freely, and he was grateful for that. A military entrance would have been very tactless. The groom nodded in his direction, and a few serving boys and maid bowed when they entered the otherwise empty hall.

 

“I think they don’t get the difference between a king and a lord-to-be,” commented Jason when an old wet nurse got to her knees on the damp soil before him. “I like it.”

“I need a bath.”

 

As if walls had ears, there was a bathtub filled with soapy warm water waiting in his bathroom near the hearth. Jason followed him and closed the door, and he wished he had more time ahead of him to truly enjoy this homecoming. But he didn’t, so he quickly disrobed and sank in. Dick moaned in delight as the heat surrounded him, chasing the dirt and the soreness from his whole expedition.

 

“You make the prettiest noises when you’re in a bath, I swear.”

“Shut up and help me scrub.”

 

Even though he would have loved to soak all night long, he knew he had important matters to discuss with a few people. And he was hungry. Jason washed his hair with delicacy while he soaped the crass away from the rest of his body and tried and failed at not being aroused by the strong fingers gently kneading his scalp and neck. _Soon_ , he told himself. Soon they would have nothing to do but spend all their days in bed, learning more about each other’s body. Dick wondered what his skin would taste like once clean, if he would smell the same, and how he would look lighten by the noon sun instead of a fluttering flame. The idea of a naked Jason sprawled on his bed made him eager to be done with that stupid lord talk.

 

“Why did you say you were my ward?” he asked suddenly to tame his own lecherous thoughts.

“That way they won’t think you’re a complete moron for letting me in. If I stay your ward, it means you took over Bruce’s mantle, and that you won’t let me kill them all. Also, no one minds a ward, since it’s stuck there. A guest though… A guest moves, and isn’t supposed to stay forever. It has motives. So why would I stay as a guest? For your pretty face, sure, but what else? And then they get suspicious. And you don’t want them to question your decisions just yet.”

“You thought of everything,” he granted, hating that his voice sounded so breathless.

 

Jason chuckled low in his throat and Dick was now past the point of caring if the now brown water didn’t hide his bodily wants anymore. He let his head fall back against the tub’s edge and looked up at his _ward_. The thought made him feel giddy and light-hearted. There was mud and sap and dirt on his cheeks and forehead, and he was still dangerously beautiful. He got a dripping hand out of the bath and cleaned the worst of it, gently.

 

“Stop making that face, pretty bird.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll kiss you, and you won’t like it.”

“Try me.”

 

He tried him, lips tensed and only a quick peck, but thankfully bite-less. It was the second time they shared a kiss, and it made Dick’s heart pound a bit faster.

 

“That was way better than the first one. Now talk.”

“What? Why?”

 

He cupped his face and put his thumb against his lower lip.

 

“To get your mouth to soften a bit. See, this is soft,” he said and patted the delicate skin with the pad of his finger.

 

Jason licked and Dick groaned and pulled his hand away. The ironborn smiled.

 

“One day, I would like to show you a few things I like,” he whispered.

“Why not right now?”

 

He kissed him again and this time it was pliant and nice.

 

“Because you stink. Also, I have Alfred to…”

 

He was interrupted by a long, loud horn blow, a custom they shared with the Wall, to alert the villagers from any incoming attack so they could retreat in time.

 

“Maybe this is Bruce coming back,” he thought out loud.

“Wait. One blow is for riders, two is for…”

 

Another horn blow echoed against the mountain and the castle walls.

 

“... wildlings,” Jason finished with a fiendish smile.

 

 


	13. Timothy

 

...

 

Right about then, Timothy Drake hated his life. He was angry and clad in armor, and had the unending feeling that it was all Dick’s fault, somehow.

 

“I gave everyone I could a sword, m’lord.”

“Thank you, Kon. And since we’re all about to die, please do call me Tim.”

“Sorry Tim.”

 

There were way too many wildlings, and Bruce was gone with the vast majority of their armed forces. All that was left were the old, the young and the wounded. _It won’t even be hard for them to take this place._

Already, the outskirts of Gothamtown were in flames, screams and noises reaching him on the castle’s ramparts. He climbed down and mounted his horse, then went around the yard where Richard Grayson was explaining the defense plan. _His_ defense plan.

 

“And you, you will protect the villagers. I will lead the counterattack with you and you, and we’ll focus on getting everybody safe and out of their way first. Then we’ll retreat here, and from here we won’t let them enter. Is that understood?”

 

The score of men answered at once, and Tim wanted to cry. They would never be enough to contain the raid.

 

“For fuck’s sake let’s just _go_ already!”

 

And _that_ was mainly why Tim was beyond himself with wrath. He turned around and ignored an angry Jason Todd, to bring his attention to a much more important matter.

 

“Damian, you know what you will have to do.”

 

The child looked small and terrified, pale and perched on the well, but he nodded vigorously, holding a very tiny sword in his hand.

 

“I am to secure Mother’s safety at all cost.”

“Yes. You will do well, I have no doubt. Now go.”

 

He shook his head again, then ran away inside the hold.

 

“I’ll watch over him.”

“No. You’ll watch over yourself.”

 

Conner seemed defiant, but held his tongue. Behind them Dick kept on yelling orders and positioning soldiers around.

 

“If you get hurt, I will never forgive myself,” Tim added to press his point.

“Yeah, but if you die, you’ll be too dead to notice I’m hurt.”

“Then I’ll try not to die, and you’ll try not to get hurt. Deal?”

 

He didn’t say anything for a while, glaring at his feet.

 

“Deal,” the smith uttered at last.

“Thank you. Good luck.”

“Good luck too.”

 

Tim resisted the urge to touch some part of him one last time. At least he wouldn’t die humiliated. He swallowed down the annoying ball of emotions that got stuck in his throat and posted himself near Dick, placing his helm upon his head. As his squire, he had to follow him into battle, even if the knight had said no at first. But then, in front of the impressive number of enemies they’d be facing, he didn’t have any choice but to enlist anyone fit enough to fight. They went out and under the portcullis with the bunch of unlucky men the new castellan had chosen for their special mission. It closed behind them in a loud clicking sound, and suddenly they were trapped outside. _I will stay calm. I trained all my life for this moment. I will not let Dick down._

 

The ride down to the village felt like a walk to the gallows, so silent he could almost hear the murmured prayers around. They turned under a patch of pine trees, and then they saw. They were wearing furs and holding weird blades, and they were screaming and running after panic-stricken townsfolks, hauling some away, hacking down the others. For a while Tim couldn’t do anything but look. _This is a nightmare. I’m walking into a nightmare._ Then an arrow killed the man on his left, and the young lord woke up as a long, unbridled war cry echoed nearby. He thought it came from the enemy, until he saw someone from their ranks running and cutting through the nearest foe. Dick gasped and went after, running his horse over two wildlings and using his pole to knock a few more down. Even when in such danger, he still wouldn’t kill them. But his sudden vault forward gave courage to some to follow him. And so did many more after the first opponents found a quick death under their strikes.

 

Tim took hold of his bow and arrows. With his wounded arm, he had decided this would be the best way for him to deal damage without being butchered too fast. There was a lot of men and women in skins around, so at least he had umpteen of targets. Even with his shaking hands, he found his mark every time, and there soon were less savages rambling about. He drew again, feeling the feathers of the arrow tickling his cheek as he aimed, but someone stabbed his horse in the chest and he went flying when the beast reared up. Tim landed harshly on his back, but rolled away fast before hoofs came crashing into his skull. His mount whined loudly as it died, trying to get back up and slipping in the mud and blood. The sneaky bastard freed his steel from the horse’s flesh and crept to him. He got to his feet as fast as he could to unsheathe his own sword, but a wooden crash took his adversary so hard on the side of the head his neck twisted in a very unhealthy angle.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

He turned and sighed in relief when he saw his master, covered in red goo, a broken pole in hand and a still standing Zitka under him.

 

“Yes, I’m fine. So you’re killing them now?”

 

Dick seemed lost for a while, eyes dazed under his helm.

 

“I didn’t mean to, but I got scared he would get you first. We need to retreat, they’re too strong.”

“We should sound the retreat now, then, before it’s too late.”

“I gave the horn to Roy.”

 

Tim wanted to slap Dick just now, but that was quite impossible with him standing a horse higher.

 

“And where is Roy?”

“I don’t know.”

 

 _Worst warrior ever._ The knight sure was good with that stick of his, but as soon as it came to commanding, he wasn’t worth a peasant’s shit.

 

“Let’s find him, and fast.”

 

Tim ran between a flaming inn and two of their fighters, away from Dick’s dumbassery. He found one of the castle guard on the ground moaning in pain and helped him up, before he noticed his guts were spilling from his belly, and instead proceeded in giving him a merciful death, and flipped his body into the fire. He poked a confused wildling in the back as he tried to kidnap a yelling young girl, and ran again when the same girl got picked up by a dozen of armed men instead. He ran until all he could see ahead were more enemies amongst the burning town. He turned right after the smith shop, and wondered if Conner’s false father was there, and decided he didn’t care if the man died. He still couldn’t find the Head Commander, and he knew that the more time he took finding him, the more people would die uselessly that night. He circled a stone well to avert two shouting, war-chanting women, listening for any cry for help or any rescuing horn blow. But then he heard something else entirely.

 

“I asked you once, I won’t repeat myself again. _Where is he?_ ”

“I don’t know. He’s not there, I swear he’s not…”

 

The end of the plea went as a gurgle. Tim tried a glance over. Jason had his unprotected face painted with blood and had a pile of corpses at his feet. The ward saw him and smiled, and now he was much more afraid than he’d been so far in the evening.

 

“Fucking replacement.”

 

He was going to die. He knew the moment the blade flashed in the moonlight that he wasn’t going to respect his part of the deal with Kon. The ironborn made his way toward him and Tim decided he wouldn’t get down without a fight. He held his sword into a defensive stance, and tried to breathe.

 

“Oh please. Don’t make me laugh.”

 

The killer launched and he dodged, jumping to the side, but then somebody huffed behind him. He veered on his feet and a man fell heavily on the frozen soil. Jason knelt beside his victim and dug his hand inside the wound in his belly, and then spread more gore over his eyes.

 

“Just run already,” he snarled, and for once Tim obeyed.

 

 _Dick went back with a blood-crazy ghost. Yet another genius idea of his._ Once quite far he looked back to the ironborn’s massacre, as the man held a dagger in each hand and kept slicing through any foe mad or bold enough to come close, screaming at them as he stabbed and stabbed again. Tim stayed there for a while, oddly mesmerized by the violent dance. He knew some of the moves were Dick’s, but turned lethal, and way less graceful.

 

And then, at last, the horn blew, and Tim hissed as a sudden pain bore through his side. He swirled with his sword and chopped into an arm. The wildling cried out and took a step back, and he used the moment of distraction to sprint away. Most of the corpses were men and women from beyond the Wall, but too many were faces he knew from the village, from the castle. It made him sick in his heart, and he swore to himself that never again he would let the savages ruin lives this way. Tim raced, breath short and freezing in front of him as he panted, and he did his best to dodge the battle still going on to rejoin with his master as soon as possible before he went away and closed the portcullis behind him.

 

When he came back to the main road, a few guards on their horses had gathered, with many soldiers afoot. Dick grabbed him by the arm and flipped him over Zitka, standing away from the fires. He had a scratch above his eyes that was bleeding a lot, and obviously his helm was lost, but otherwise, he seemed fine, and Tim was very glad for it.

 

“We need to go,” yelled the knight over the clashing of swords and moans of pain. “For those who still have their horses, please try to take at least one man with you. Tim, bring them back in.”

“Where are you going?” he called, horrified as Dick picked up his stick again.

“I’ll try to gather the ones that missed the horn and might still be alive.”

“You’re mad! You’ll get killed!”

“He’s right,” added Roy Harper. “Let’s retreat with the ones who came back, and let’s presume the rest are dead.”

“I’m not leaving him for dead again!” suddenly roared Dick, and he vanished into the burning town, scurrying off with his piece of pole.

 

Tim cursed softly. _He’ll kill you like he killed all those wildlings. You’ll get cold, piled up on top of them and dead._ But they didn’t have the time to wait for Dick to get through his savior folly. He stood straighter on the mare’s back and helped the Head Commander onto the saddle too.

 

“Let us retreat!” he claimed, and the soldiers listened to him.

 

They galloped fast and strong, hoping no one would follow them. Of course, they followed.

 

“Close the portcullis!” Tim commanded as they entered the hold in a rush.

“Where are the others?” called a guard.

“There are no others,” he answered.

 

The portcullis shut with a loud rattle. Then the silence. The absolute silence, waiting for the attackers to get back, knowing that they locked everyone else outside as long as they would stand. _And we will stand_ , Tim told himself.

He unmounted and climbed the ramparts.

 

“You’re alive.”

“Not for long. We need to act fast.”

 

Conner nodded, and the first yells came from the forest.

 

“Are Damian and Lady Wayne safe?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

 

He breathed deeply. They were marching closer.

 

“Tim? What should we do?”

“I don’t know Kon. I don’t know.”

 

He touched the cold stone in front of him.

 

“I need some time.”

 

He scanned the yard under him. Half a hundred men were standing, confused, waiting for their death.

 

“Do we have bows?”

“We do.”

“How many?”

 

He groaned when Conner looked somewhere else.

 

“Never mind. Do we have a lot of them?”

“Yes. Many. More than twenty.”

“And arrows?”

“Way more than twenty. A lot, lot more.”

“Get them out.”

“Yes.”

 

The smith went away at once. Tim turned to his soldiers. _My men now. Until Bruce comes back. Until Damian comes of age._ He realized Dick was gone, that he wouldn’t help him this night, that he would never knight him. _I will morn if I don’t die tonight._

 

“Do any of you ever used a bow?” he inquired, his voice booming against the walls.

 

A few lifted a hand.

 

“Come over here, post yourselves over the gate and around. We will hold them as best as we can. I doubt they have a ram but…”

 

The first wildling came crashing against the wall with a torch.

 

“Ser, I can lead the archers.”

 

He considered Roy Harper. _Ser_. He knew the man as his second teacher in archery, when he had arrived at Waynecastle. He was more than competent.

 

“Yes. Good idea. The rest of you, we will make sure none of them gets through. They will probably have ladders. Protect the bows at all costs.”

 

Conner had arrived with two young lads, giving away the arms and quivers to whoever reached out toward him. Tim got down.

 

“You, come with me,” he told the main groom.

 

The boy was standing there, seemingly lost. He followed quickly in his steps toward the castle’s great hall.

 

“You can run fast, I saw you.”

“Yessir. Faster than a horse, my mom used to say.”

“Good. Do you know where Maester Alfred’s tower is?”

“Yes. S‘been there a few times m’lord.”

“Go over here as fast as you can, and grab me the jar with the green fire in it. It should be right after the ravens, under his desk. Do _not_ drop it. Come back to me when you have it, I will be by the portcullis.”

“Be right back.”

 

He ran, and he did run at an impressive speed.

 

“What do we do now?” Conner asked, walking to him once his hands were empty from the bows and arrows.

“We look for something else.”

 

Together they went to the kitchen. No one was there, of course, and Tim felt dumb for hoping anyone from the staff would be available to help him.

 

“You will find it by the godswood.”

 

He turned on himself in a squeak and Conner puffed his shoulders in a defensive pose. A slim girl emerged from the shadows, her dark long hair falling and hiding her face.

 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.  “You’re looking for pitch, right?”

“Y… Yes?”

“By the godswood. Five-and-thirty casks. You will need arms. We will help.”

“... We?” stammered Tim.

 

And then she disappeared again, moving as soft as a cat. He shivered. Behind him, there were screams and the repetitive sounds of arrows being fired, with the pounded orders of the Commander echoing.

 

“We should get moving,” said Kon after a while.

“You’re right.”

 

The barrels of pitch were indeed piled up near the few trees that grew inside the castle’s walls around the weirwood. And they were heavy. Tim had to roll his to get it moving, and the portcullis was far enough.

 

“Where do we get them?” a sudden deep voice asked.

 

Tim glanced over his shoulder to a cook, a tall man with skin even darker than Dick’s. His left hand was missing, and by the way he strolled with a limp, he guessed a leg had been fixed with carved wood under his food-soiled clothes too. The weird girl was right to his side.

 

“Where the wildlings are.”

 

Together they rolled and pushed the firsts few casks under the ramparts. The groom was waiting for them there with the wildfire under his tunic.

 

“Thank you,” Tim said as he took it carefully from his grasp. “Now we need more pitch around that tower here.”

 

It took them many round trips to get all the pitch against the portcullis and the tower nearby. By that time four wildlings had made their way inside and were being chased by foot soldiers. Half the bowmen were dead, or at least not standing, but he still heard a familiar voice.

 

“What’s your name,” Tim demanded, his attention set on the groom.

“Bart, Ser.”

“Bart, I will need you to tell Head Commander Harper to get all his men away from the ramparts, and now. And tell him that even if it doesn’t make sense, he needs to do it. That it’s an order”

“Understood.”

 

As quick as thunder, he sprinted to the stairs.

 

“Kon, go on the stable’s roof and lift your arm if you see that the wildlings are all under the tower, or at least close enough.”

“I will go,” cut the mysterious girl. “He is afraid of heights.”

 

Before he could object, she was already on her way. The cook trailed behind her and helped her over the wooden structure.

 

“What are you going to do, Tim?” Conner made very softly, watching the girl slide higher still.

“We’re going to blow up the castle wall.”

“And what if it doesn’t work?”

“Then we’re doomed either way.”

 

His friend let out a shaky breath.

 

“You’re going to light the pitch with that green fire of yours.”

“I will.”

“You will explode.”

“Probably.”

 

There was a pause. The girl shook her arm and waved at them.

 

“Let me do it.”

 

Tim’s whole body wanted to scream at the words. His heart squeezed painfully and he bit his lip to keep from making any noise.

 

“You are more important than me,” Kon went on. “They will need someone to rule over this castle. I’m only a smith. I can do it. Let me do it.”

 

He had a point, and the young lord knew it. Damian couldn’t rule alone, not yet, maybe not ever. Lady Talia would help him, but she was already making plans to leave since the news of Dick’s inheritance. But something had happened in all those card games and letter learning with the smith, something Tim didn’t fully understand yet. And for one of the rare times in his life, he made an illogical decision.

 

“No.”

 

The bowmen were gathering in the yard, the savages chanting victory over the stone walls. It was now or never.

 

“Run, all of you, run, as far as you can, _run_!” he yelled to the soldiers.

 

They obeyed in panicked rush, scrambling over and pushing each other to get inside as fast as possible. Once they were far away, Tim marched to the aligned barrels of pitch, didn’t look back, closed his eyes, and threw the jar of wildfire at his feet.

  
  



	14. Conner

 

...

 

When they marched through the pebbles and rocks at last, it was dusk, and the whole castle thought it was a second, smaller raid, sounding their death, and very few were there to welcome them with swords, the rest of them hiding in the hold. Conner looked about the flame-lighted yard as Ser Richard laughed under the happy slaps and cries the people around gave him. He had brought back more than twenty men, and that was good. They were full of dust and blood and they were all hurt somehow, but they were alive, and that was more than many could say. The funeral pyres had stopped the day before, and the smith was glad, because men smelled awfully like roasting pig when they burned, and that was disturbing.

 

“Eh, you!”

 

He didn’t turn, because that probably wasn’t for him. No one was looking for him anymore. At least he still had his job.

 

“You, the guy with the hammer.”

 

He lifted his head.

 

“Yes, you.”

 

Ser Richard was over his anvil and smiled when he noticed Conner had acknowledged his presence in the smithy. He was still covered in grime, and seemed very tired.

 

“So yeah, I didn’t see Tim yet and the groom told me to ask you where he could be, since apparently now you two are best friends.”

 

He swallowed. _How am I supposed to tell him?_ he wondered. He didn’t know what to do, what to say, and why he was the one stuck with this.

 

“I… Come with me.”

 

One time Tim had told him it was impolite not to escort guests when showing them new places. He didn’t know if that was considered as a new place, but it was new for the knight anyway.

 

“Is he sleeping? I thought he was always a night owl. Maybe he needs his sleep. I know I do. Say, what happened to the north wall?”

“It exploded, Ser.”

 

_And Tim with it._

 

“Yeah, I can see that.”

 

They entered the hall and followed the stairs, the silence broken by bell jingles. He saw the offensive decoration at the knight’s wrist and winced at the annoying sound. Nonetheless, he led him to Tim’s chamber, and opened the door. The other man didn’t enter.

 

“He’s dead, right?”

 

Conner took a step back and gestured to the room. Ser Richard sighed and went in, and he tailed after. Tim was laying on his bed, not asleep, hands curled tightly in the sheets.

 

“Kon?” he asked softly, voice muffled by his pillow.

“It’s me.”

 

He went close and pried one of the fist from the blanket, holding it instead and soothing the fingers open.

 

“What happened?” questioned the handsome knight very quietly, standing nearby as Conner sat on the bed.

“He got hurt. He made the wall explode to get rid of the wildlings. There was green fire and…”

“He exploded?”

“It’s… He didn’t. I got him away after the first blast.”

 

The knight turned his face to him with awe.

 

“You saved my baby brother?”

 

He shrugged. It sounded more heroic than it was. Really, he wasn’t thinking much, and only picked his friend up because he thought the explosion was over, and _then_ the rest of the pitch got aflame and burst too, tearing the wall and the wildlings to pieces, and not Tim. Thank the Seven above, not Tim. Tim was burning though, green licks of fire sticking to him when he had pulled him away, and Conner had burnt his hands getting him out of his armor. The fire had melted the metal as if it were wood, and he had decided the green fire was very scary and dangerous. And now his master had great splotches of pain across his back where the molten steel had dripped, and he had to lie on his belly all the time because of that. The maester had showed him once, deep, red drops of skinless flesh and he thought he could be sick just thinking about it. The green fire had gone off the ramparts two days ago, at last, since no water could do anything against it. He hated the green fire.

 

“Tim saved everyone,” he finally said. “After the wall and tower fell and crushed almost all the wildlings, the guards didn’t have so many to kill.”

“You won this battle all by yourself,” whispered Ser Richard, taking a step forward to stroke his squire’s hair. “I’m so proud of you.”

 

Tim whined and there were tears against the pillow when he moved.

 

“I should call the maester,” Conner said. “He’s in pain.”

“Right.”

 

The knight went outside the door and talked to someone, then went back in the bedroom. They waited together, patting Tim gently and breathing calming words to ease his suffering. A few maids began bringing up buckets of hot water to the bathroom in the next room.

 

“What are they doing?” Conner asked.

“I need a bath.”

 

He thought the knight had a weird sense of priorities, but he didn’t say anything against it. The maester arrived just as Tim started sobbing, biting down on his feather pillow.

 

“Ser Richard, I did not expect you to be here.”

“Alfred!”

 

The knight stood and hugged the old man, who huffed in surprise.

 

“I’m so glad to see you again, you have no idea. I would be dead without the food you gave me, and thanks for the ravens.”

“You are very welcome. Now… May I assist Timothy?”

 

The man hummed and let the elder to his business. Conner left the bed to give more room to the maester, earning a short protest from Tim.

 

“You should take wine or something,” he told him.

“No.”

 

He sighed when the lord turned his head to glare at him.

 

“No dreamwine, no milk of the poppy, nothing,” he added, clenching his jaw as the maester started to pick at the bandage on his back.

“You’re crazy.”

 

He got a hiss in answer as the linen was lifted.

 

“I… I can’t…”

 

Conner turned to Ser Richard as he stuttered behind him. He was very pale and held a nearby chair so tightly the wood gave a creak.

 

“Dick, go away,” muttered Tim.

“Please, Richard, I do not wish to see you faint as I am busy elsewhere,” gently said the maester. “Also, you will need all your head for tomorrow, for we have to talk about your new responsibilities within the castle.”

 

The knight nodded and left toward the bathroom. Conner understood. The sight of his master’s back was horrible, and even he couldn’t do more than a quick glance.

 

“The skin will struggle to grow back for a while, but once it starts to heal it will do so fast. I can see no infection either. Hopefully the scars will not be too large.”

 

Conner liked how the maester kept talking as he poked gently at the wounds to cover them with a white smelly salving goo. He knew it distracted Tim from the pain, and he was glad for it. He slipped his fingers in soft raven hair and combed it slowly. He liked to think it soothed his friend, and he enjoyed doing it. Deep river eyes fluttered close after a while, but opened up again in a start as the door was kicked wide open.

 

“Where is he?”

 

Maester Alfred looked over and started to apply new bandages on Tim as if nothing had happened.

 

“Tim, they told me he came back, where is he?”

“Bathroom,” finally answered the lying lord.

 

The redhead man walked over and to the other room in a haste, holding his arm close to his body.

 

“Can someone lock that door before the whole army gets in?” asked Tim, and Conner hurried to obey.

“Ser Roy should not run the whole castle with his hand in such a state,” commented the old man, clicking his tongue in disapproval.

 

A laugh and a big splash of water was heard from the bathroom.

 

“He’s happy Dick’s alive, that’s all.”

 

Conner remembered the Head Commander and the knight were friends, and decided that even with a few fingers off he would have wanted to see Tim if he were the one coming back from an obvious death. But he didn’t have to catch a blade with his bare hand, and Tim didn’t stay beyond to kill more wildlings, so that didn’t happen.

 

“I am done now, Timothy. Do you require further assistance?”

“No, thank you. Kon will help me sit.”

 

The maester nodded and left the room, probably to tend to other wounded. Conner locked the door again behind him.

 

“You want to sit?” he asked the lord.

“Yes, please. I’m awfully thirsty.”

 

He gently slid his fingers under Tim’s side and helped him roll on himself without landing on his back or the slash on his ribs. He fluffed the pillows and placed them against the headboard, to pull the young man against them and fix the blankets around him. Tim looked tired, eyes puffy from the crying.

 

“I’m sorry I left you alone,” Conner said. “I didn’t think you’d wake up while I was gone.”

“It’s fine.”

“You should have called someone to get you the maester.”

“You know I hate asking for help.”

“I know.”

 

He handed him a cup of tea and Tim drank it all.

 

“How are the burns on your hands?” his friend inquired as he poured him more tea.

“Healed,” he said, showing the still rosy flesh of his palms.

“Can you lend me some of your healing powers for a week or so?” joked Tim, smiling.

“I wish I could.”

 

He found himself stroking his hair again, only this time his master was very awake and was looking at him intently, sipping his cup.

 

“Sorry,” he murmured, taking his hand back.

“No. It feels good when you touch me.”

 

Tim went red so fast Conner was afraid he might be choking on his tea, but then understood it was his natural blushing made worse by his abed pallor. He laughed a bit, feeling nervous for no reason. His friend chuckled too, and then the other door was being opened forcefully. Tim went rigid all of sudden as someone emerged from the small doorframe giving into Ser Richard’s chamber. _A wildling got in_ , thought Conner as the stranger walked in. But he wasn’t armed, and obviously not dirty enough to be a wildling. Unless it was a wildling that took his bath.

 

“He found you,” Tim stated, voice blank.

 

He was afraid, the smith could feel it, hear it in the way he talked. But the man didn’t answer. He didn’t look well, in fact. He seemed lost, but the aggressive kind of lost. Like a wolf trapped into a house, not knowing how to escape, about to tear its way out.

 

“Kon,” his master whispered.

 

He held his hand because panic had started to tamper with Tim’s ability to breathe. At the same moment, someone giggled, and the scary man’s attention zeroed on the bathroom door. He moved into that direction and Conner let out a shaky breath.

 

“It’s fine, Tim,” he said, trying to soothe the young lord. “We’re fine.”

“He’s going for Dick. He’s the prey. We have to stop…”

 

He tried to stand and hissed in pain instead, just as loud yells were heard from the next room. A thud then, a splash, and another frustrated scream.

 

“Fuck, Jason, what…”

 

The man reappeared, dragging a naked Ser Richard by the neck. Conner stayed there and tried not to stare at the strange procession too much.

 

“Dick!” Tim yelped, and bounced in the bed a bit.

“I can handle him,” assured the knight. “Please just make sure Roy’s alright.”

 

And with that they both went into the adjacent bedroom, and the door slammed shut.

 

“That was weird,” Conner said.

“Yeah.”

 

They were still holding hands. He let his thumb run over the edges of bone under the skin.

 

“We should check on Roy. And by we, I mean you,” Tim offered after a moment, squeezing his fingers.

 

He huffed and obeyed, getting off the feather bed just as the soldier stumbled into view. His lip was split open and he seemed confused, but overall he was alive and standing.

 

“I think I’ll go lie down for a bit,” the Head Commander mumbled.

 

Conner helped him to the door and asked him if he wanted to borrow his arm to walk to his quarters, but the man refused and went away on his own. The smith made sure every lock was in place, even in the bathroom, before heading back to Tim.

 

“You should go back to sleep,” he told him.

“As if I could.”

“Why not?”

“Listen.”

 

He did. Faint cries and thumping, groans and choked words, light but still audible.

 

“Is that from…,” he started, nodding toward the handsome knight’s door.

“Yeah.”

 

He sat down in silence.

 

“Is he in pain?” he asked after some time, staring at Tim’s blush.

“... Maybe. But he said he could deal with him, so…”

 

There was a loud moan and he suddenly understood they weren’t fighting. Well, that explained why his master was so embarrassed. He snorted and joined him on the mattress.

 

“Sleep. Ser Richard is going to be fine.”

 

He rolled Tim on his side and redid the bed sheets arrangement.

 

“I’m afraid Jason’s going to kill me,” the lord admitted.

“I made sure everything’s locked.”

“Sleep with me. Please.”

 

He sounded so small, and the bed was so comfy, Conner couldn’t find any reason to say no, so he pulled his boots off and settled behind Tim, where there would usually be a big pillow keeping him from flipping on his back as he slept. He blew the candles and huddled under the warm wool blanket. He stifled his laugh as the noises nearby worsen.

 

“It doesn’t sound fun,” Tim whispered. “Usually when he… does that, it’s not…”

“He does that often?”

“Not that often. But sometimes.”

“With men?”

 

There was a moment of eerie quietness, then someone yelped like they hammered their own fingers, but it was cut short and muffled.

 

“I don’t like to pry on private life,” Tim answered.

 

He moved a bit and his hair smelled good and fresh like lemon. The smith shimmied closer.

 

“I used to live by the brothel,” Conner said. “And I’ve heard worse than that.”

“Did you go often?”

_And isn’t that prying on private life._

 

“I didn’t have the coppers,” he said honestly.

 

Of course, a few girls were indulgent enough on lazy nights, and one of them had let him into her room once after he had made her a necklace of painted lead. She was blond and had a nice smile and nicer bosom still, but Tim probably didn’t want to know that.

 

“You have the coins,” he went on, “do _you_ go often?”

 

The young man giggled.

 

“No. I can’t get out after dark.”

“That’s stupid.”

“You’re stupid.”

 

The other room fell silent, and so did they. Soon Conner noticed Tim’s breathing has slowed down and he felt very tired. He hitched his hand to fumble with raven locks again, twirling them between his fingers until sleepiness took him over too.

  
  
  



	15. Jason

 

...

 

Dick’s skin was very beautiful in the morning light, just as he expected. For once he had the time to really look, to spend hours there if he wanted to. And he did want to, but he couldn’t. He had observed a few moments ago that at least the Dothraki wasn’t dead, that he was still breathing and only sleeping soundly. That he hadn’t killed him. Not yet. But there was so much blood against the bed sheets, under his nails, on him. _How did it happen?_ Because he knew Dick was better than him, sneakier if not stronger, and somehow it wasn’t Jason’s blood that covered them both. It had dawned on him that he had _let him_ , and he wasn’t ready for what it entailed. He had to leave. Before Dick woke up, before he understood what Jason had done to him _again_ , before he asked the redhead soldier to get him back to the dungeons. _I punched that guy_ , he remembered suddenly. He couldn’t find it in himself to feel guilty about it. He went for his clothes in the bathroom, but they were dirty from their second trip in the forest. He could still steal some of Dick's, the larger ones that actually fitted. He did that, struggled a bit to get the breeches past his thighs. He got his boots back from the muddy pile on the ground and sat on the bed to put them on.

 

"Where are you going?"

 

He jumped, startled. Dick was staring at him through half-lidded eyes, blinking slowly.

 

"Don't leave," he added after Jason got away from the mattress.

 

He rolled over with a hiss and a wince of pain, sitting naked across the pale blankets. Jason made himself look to consider the frontal damages too. His lips were swollen where he had pulled his teeth in, swallowing a few gasps. A necklace of bruises was turning a light purple, and he faintly recalled closing his fingers around Dick's pretty throat in the vain hope of shutting him up. His chest was crossed with deep scratches, just as his back was, and his hips had Jason's handprints on them. Dick moved a bit under his gaze, shifting. There was blood too down his legs, with more nasty bite-marks against the soft flesh of his inner thighs. Jason wanted to retch.

 

"I’m glad you’re back.”

 

_Back from what?_

 

“I'm not mad."

 

Jason scoffed. How could he not be? _He’s insane._

 

“I just need to…”

 

He tried to get up, but his knees gave way under him and he fell on the rugged floor with a light thud. His shoulders were dusted with bloody nips, blossoming into deep blue hickeys. Jason groaned at the sight. _Mine_ , the thirst whispered in his mind. He remembered _that_ , the need to call all of Dick as his, only his, not someone the gingerbread could put his hands on as soon as he was out of the way. He helped him get back to his feet and pushed him into the fluffy mattress again.

 

“Stay there,” he ordered.

 

He went into the bathroom, where he had washed, and picked a cloth from the tub, still filled with muddy water from the day before. He returned to the chamber and started to clean Dick with it, as gently as he could, flipping him on his side or on his belly to gain better access. He swept away the blood where he dared reach, dabbed at the worst wounds. But then the piece of cloth was soaked a rusty red and he really wanted to run away. The other man was silent, panting a bit from when Jason poked too hard into his skin. He wanted Dick to scream, to yell at him, to hit him in the face, anything but the impossible muteness and careful glances.

 

“Why?” he managed to say, choking on the word.

 

Dick clenched his fingers on the blanket and snuggled into it.

 

“Why what?” he answered after a while.

 

Jason punched the pillow near the Dothraki’s head, shaking. He couldn’t deal with that. He got up and to the door, decided on leaving once and for all.

 

“Jay, stay. Please.”

 

He turned up the lock and opened.

 

“You close that door and stay right here.”

 

He stepped outside.

 

“Fuck you!”

 

He didn’t have the time to fully turn on himself before Dick landed on his chest, making them both stumble into the hallway.

 

“ _You_ put me in that state, so _you_ stay and take care of me!”

 

A stunned maid squealed and Jason forced the now angry man back inside the bedroom before he’d scare every passerby with his yelling nakedness.

 

“So now you can walk,” he noticed out loud.

“Fuck you,” Dick repeated. “I hurt myself doing that.”

“Oh, poor you.”

 

He got a sharp slap on the cheek for that. _At last._ His eyes were bright and his frown made him achingly handsome, and Jason really wished he could be still sucking on his lower lip, tasting sweet moans and blood instead of doing all that talking.

 

“You got in this situation all by yourself, pretty bird,” he added. “I did nothing wrong.”

“Of course you did nothing. You only dragged me into bed _by the neck_ , you moron.”

“You could have stopped me if you wanted.”

“If I wanted.”

 

 _What does that even mean?_ he almost snapped back.

 

“And what do you want exactly?” he asked instead.

“You,” Dick said without missing a beat. “You, and naked, so let’s change the bed sheets so we can cuddle.”

“I don’t do cuddles.”

“Oh, you are doing cuddles now.”

 

The copper-skinned man looked at him with a small grin.

 

“Anyway, those are my clothes, so you’ll have to give them back.”

 

He then limped to the feathered bed and tugged at the blankets there. Jason sighed and helped him, and together they pulled new woolen covers and, since Dick was shivering and it was snowing outside, furs. He also took a moment to get the fire going again, and to answer the door when someone meekly asked if they wanted any food to break their fast.

 

“I’m not hungry, I just want to sleep,” the Dothraki yawned, and so he sent the maid away.

 

He undressed under a blue, watchful gaze, and tried not to feel too self-conscious about it. When he finally sunk into bed, Dick latched onto him like an octopus, nuzzling his shoulder and holding him tight, although it was already hot under the many pelts. It made him feel warm inside too, and Jason found out he didn’t mind cuddles after all, so he closed his arms around the other man.

 

“I hurt you,” he said after a moment of quietness, combing dark curly hair with his fingers. “I didn’t mean to.”

 

_But I do every time, and you’re never mad at me._

 

“I know.”

 

Dick shifted and stared at him.

 

“I don’t mind when you do,” he mumbled like it was a secret.

“Why?”

 

A shrug.

 

“I think you needed to unwind. Also, I deserved it.”

 

Jason growled.

 

“You don’t deserve that. You deserve a fair, sweet maiden, or another nice summerwife that would keep you busy in bed and not leave you bloody every damn morning.”

 

Dick snorted a short laugh.

 

“As if Kory never left me bleeding…,” he said with a smirk.

 

 _The summerwife has more to her than I thought at first._ Then again, she had been a pirate princess with dark skin and emerald eyes, taller than Dick and probably stronger than a few men. He wondered how she was with him, if she would sink her nails into his hips too, force pretty noises out of him, if she would hold him into the mattress until he couldn’t move, until all he could do was to _take_ and…

 

“I killed them.”

 

Jason snapped back into reality fast.

 

“Who?”

“The wildlings. I killed them, and I didn’t mean to. Now everytime I close my eyes I see them.”

 

Tears were threatening to fall from Dick’s eyelashes, so he stroked his chin gently.

 

“They tried to kill you too, so that’s all good,” he tried, wincing at how poor he was at comforting.

 

Dick rubbed his face into his hand, thoughtful.

 

“I knew how to take them out without killing them, I should have done that instead.”

 

_Why is he crying about that, they’re only wildlings._

 

“Yeah, but you’d be dead.”

 

Dick sobbed and Jason started to panic.

 

“I’d deserve it.”

 

He began to understand there was something going on with Dick and ending lives that ran deeper than being afraid of blood. He wished he remembered what happened between the battle and the return to the castle better, so he could try to get what the absolute fuck was going on in the man’s head.

 

“Explain to me,” he ordered.

 

The Dothraki nodded and pearls of water fell down his cheeks into Jason’s chest.

 

“I killed a few of them, so they have the right to kill me.”

“They have the right to _try_ to kill you,” the ironborn corrected.

“But they should.”

“They attacked you first, so you have the right to hit back. They wouldn’t cry for you if they’d killed you.”

“I don’t care about that,” Dick hiccupped. “It’s… Who am I to decide it was their time? I shouldn’t have that power, I shouldn’t use it against people.”

“They tried to kill _everyone_ , even you, and even that squire of yours. Not killing them meant letting them burn down everything and everyone you love. You saved innocents, think of it that way.”

 

Dick fell silent against him, if only for the wails he let out once every few minutes. Jason let him cry for a while, thinking he needed to get the emotions out somehow, letting his hand play with the shorter locks of hair on the man’s nape.

 

“Come on pretty bird. It wasn’t your choice.”

 

Jason thought Dick had gone asleep when he didn’t answer, his breath evened out and the weeping stopped.

 

“When we do that,” he suddenly whispered, gesturing at them both, much to Jason’s surprise, “it makes me forget I’ve done such… horrible deeds.”

 

He was speechless. That was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard.

 

“Yesterday,” Dick went on, “it was… It helped. I needed that.”

 

He squeezed his arm kindly. _Impossible wrath when he found Dick in his bath and the soldier touching him, the want to get him away, to keep him to himself…_

 

“I needed someone like you,” the Dothraki added, smiling softly into his skin.

 

_His scream when he took him, without the usual heady smell of hair oil to help ease his way in, only spit and now blood, Dick’s fingers holding his hip tight, to push him away he had thought, until he had pulled him closer._

 

“You liked it,” he croaked at last.

“It helped. It’s the first time I slept after the battle, after killing someone. I felt good.”

“You let me do that to you.”

 

He was horrified now.

 

“I wouldn’t just let anyone do it. I trust you.”

 

 _I’m out of there_ , Jason thought as he escaped Dick’s embrace.

 

“Jay, please, don’t make a fuss. It won’t happen again, I swear, it’s only… It was only yesterday, I needed to hurt, and you made it happen, and I didn’t even know I needed that until you did it, but it made me feel good, it made me think I had what I deserved… That I didn’t need to die to repent myself or something, I don’t know anymore. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… use your war-craze state or anything, I’m sorry...”

 

He swore in his mother tongue. _This heat sharing deal is going out of control_ , he said to himself, and maybe out loud.

 

“And it’s not like you were there either, weren’t you?” the copper-skinned man spat suddenly. “I saw you, and you were gone again, you’re always gone when you bed me. Do I disgust you that much? Is that it? You can’t even look at me without that sad, weirded-out face and it’s…”

“Shut up.”

 

Dick obeyed, thankfully, his jaws clicked shut. Jason swallowed and returned under the blankets. He pulled him close and kissed the crook of his neck, where he was somehow sore-free.

 

“I wish I could be all gone when we…”

 

He felt Dick tense at his words.

 

“I mean…”

 

He sighed. He wasn’t good with words.

 

“I mean, I wish I couldn’t remember hurting you so each time. I don’t even understand why I do that. I wish I could… touch you without… leaving traces behind.”

 

The other man huffed.

 

“But I guess it’s still new to me, and a part of me wouldn’t believe it if there was no proof.”

 

Dick hummed low and grinned a bit.

 

“It’s fine, you were still all running amok, I didn’t exactly expect you to make love to me.”

 

 _Make love to you._ The idea sent a deep shiver down his guts, and he decided to ignore the strange feeling.

 

“But why do you always look like you’re lost up some place in your own mind?” Dick asked.

 

The Dothraki had just confessed trusting him, so he could tell him the truth, he reflected. Or at least try to.

 

“You’re too much.”

 

He chuckled.

 

“I’m too much? Too much what?”

“Perfect.”

 

His smile was bright and amused.

 

“Well, aren’t you a seducer.”

 

He rolled over Jason and pecked him on the lips.

 

“Would you like it if we tried to make you stay with me, this time?”

“I’m not sure I can.”

“But we can try, right?”

“Yeah.”

 

Dick hiked his body higher against him, sliding his leg between his. Immediately Jason grabbed his backside, kneaded the firm flesh under his fingers and the other produced a moan. They kissed and it was soft. He traced Dick’s lip until he found the tender split in it and nibbled at it. It bled a bit when it opened and his bed partner whimpered. _Sweat and foam in his hair from the soapy bath, great licks of tangy red pain along his spine, loud, so loud, from pleasure, he wasn’t sure, he hoped, pliant muscles, skin, so much pretty skin…_

 

“Jason? Jason.”

 

He shook him, his mouth reddened and swollen and questions in his eyes. Jason was ashamed, frustrated by his lack of self-control. _This was a stupid idea._

 

“So this is going to be harder than I thought,” the Dothraki admitted with a shy grin.

 

He almost felt sorry, but then noticed Dick seemed very aroused. _He likes it better when I’m out._ Now he was pissed off. He flipped them over and took hold of thin wrists. The man panted and bucked his hips, spreading his thighs.

 

“Are you sure you _want_ me to stay there?” he hissed near his face.

“Yes. I want you to…”

 

He circled Jason’s waist with his stupidly long legs.

 

“I want you like that.”

 

He smirked.

 

“Angry.”

 

_He’s even more fucked up than I am._

 

“You’re so lovely when you fight,” Dick sighed, eyeing him thoroughly.

“You’re saying an awful lot of horseshit,” he answered.

 

That got him an honest laugh.

 

“Then you should make me shut up.”

 

Jason didn’t understand how the man could still be so enticing even when annoying the fleas out of him. He kissed him again, harder, and Dick felt like languid water under him, moving sweet and slow. He let go of his arms and soon they came resting upon his shoulders, clawing gently at his skin. They broke apart to breathe after a while, the Dothraki all dazed and happy.

 

“I could do that for days,” he cooed.

 

Jason hummed. Dick put his hands against the stubble on his cheeks and patted. He looked serious all of sudden, and that was uncanny.

 

“You know I’m…”

 

He stopped, cleared his throat and looked away.

 

“I’m really glad you’re here.”

 

Jason had a hard time to keep from chuckling.

 

“That’s quite a big declaration you’ve got me here, pretty bird.”

 

Dick sighed.

 

“I just wanted to tell you, too.”

“Too?”

 

The frown was back in full force.

 

“You really don’t remember anything, do you?”

“No, I guess I don’t.”

 

He patted Dick’s hair and tried to soothe the scowl out of his face.

 

“I know I killed a bunch of wildlings,” he tried when the petting didn’t work.

“Yeah you did that. A whole score of them. When I found you, you were…”

 

He gulped.

 

“... You were interrogating one of them.”

“I was looking for the Joker.”

“ _Inside_ another wilding?”

“That’s possible.”

 

He had wanted the Joker, and no one could give him answers.

 

“Anyway,” Dick said. “So I found you, and you wouldn’t stop, so I waited until you’ve killed them all. At one point you fell asleep so I picked you and I got you in the forest. And then I got everyone I could in the forest too. In the night a few more wildlings came through. I… I had to deal with them.”

“I didn’t help you?”

“I think you were passed out, actually. But it’s fine, we managed. And then you woke up and you were mad I didn’t let you kill more of them. We had a fight.”

“A physical one?” he asked, surprised.

“Yes.”

 

Dick smiled.

 

“You won, too.”

“What happened after?” he pressed when nothing followed.

“Oh. We… Uh… We were away from the others, because I think they were afraid of you, so they left us alone a bit, and… we talked.”

“About what?”

“You… Uh...”

 

The other man fidgeted with a piece of dead skin on his thumb.

 

“Come on pretty bird, we don’t have all day.”

“Fine,” he breathed. “You pinned me against a tree and kept me there to tell me how pretty I was and how happy you were that I was there with you, that if it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t know where to go, and then… you went on a bit about my legs, and while you did that… we… had sex?”

 

That was embarrassing and really not expected, but Jason fought to keep his face emotionless.

 

“How can you not be sure it was sex or not?”

“We kept all our clothes, but it was somehow very intense and…”

“And?”

“And it was new for me, that you were in front of me, so it was... quick, too. And you were kissing me, and with all that rocking against a pine I thought I’d be sore after, but I wasn’t, and it was so… nice.”

 

The Dothraki was a shade duskier than usual, and he kept his eyes cast down. Jason snorted.

 

“I humped you against a tree telling you nonsense until you lost it, and you think that’s nice?”

“Yes,” he said defiantly.

“Well then. You’re in for something gentle as fuck the day I actually manage to bed you like a decent human being.”

 

He meant it as a joke to avoid talking about his undying obsession with Dick’s legs again, and didn’t exactly foresaw the long shiver and the deep moan he got instead.

 

“Don’t talk like that when I hurt so much, it makes me want things I can’t have right now,” grumbled the man on top of him.

 

Jason laughed and spread his hands along the warm curve of his rump again, just because he could.

 

“What things?” he teased, enjoying the wanton glint in Dick’s darken gaze.

 

He chuckled and licked his lips before answering.

 

“Well for once I would really like to have your…”

 

A rap at the door interrupted him.

 

“Urg.”

 

Again with the knocking. Dick moved, the heat of the moment gone.

 

“It must be important. Jay, please go, I can’t move a finger.”

 

He huffed but obeyed morosely, letting go of the warmness and wrapping himself into a fur. He opened to a tall young man that was watching his own boots with much interest.

 

“Tim… Uh, Lord Drake wanted to know if Ser Richard was still alive,” mumbled the youth.

“Yeah, he’s fine.”

 

The stare was lifted from the dirty shoes and he dared a look into the bed chamber.

 

“Oh… Well… Tim… Lord Drake would want a talk with him. If possible. But soon. He asked for luncheon actually.”

“For the love of the old gods, Kon, just put some clothes on him and get him here,” yelled a frustrated voice from behind the doorstep.

 

Jason had to think for a moment to realize that was Dick’s squire, and that his bedroom was awkwardly close to the one he was into. He grunted.

 

“Guess the replacement'll have to wait. Pretty bird and I were busy.”

“Tell him I’m coming right now,” countered the Dothraki from behind him.

 

He watched him as he hopped into the breeches Jason had tried to steal in the morning.

_Can’t move a finger. Right._

 

“Jay, you should take a bath while I’m gone.”

 

Dick pulled on a loose doublet, and he saw the man named Kon ogle a bit at his wounds.

 _Mine_ , he wanted to bark.

 

“I’ll go hunt,” he told no one in particular.

“See you at supper,” said Dick like he expected a promise, like it was actually a question, like he was afraid Jason had still some place to run away to.

“Yeah, sure.”

 

That got him a smile and a soft hand squeeze. Then the door clicked shut and he was left alone again.

 

 


	16. Damian

 

...

 

The gathering was cold and stiff, much to Damian’s disliking. On his left, Lady Talia had her two hands on her laps, which meant she was malcontent. He looked up at his mother for a while, the way she sat straight on her chair, her brown hair flowing down her back in thick braids. She was very beautiful and queenly, and he felt a pang of admiration for her. He was still sad, somehow, but he had expected it since so long that it was almost a relief. Grayson sat on the far end of the council, seemingly bored and worried, his eyelids and temples painted a light blue. His clothing was awfully dull, for once, as if someone had told him to tone it down for a day or two. He had also insisted the ward had to assist, and since no one could forbid it, the ironborn was there too, with his dirty booted foot on the war table in faked apathy.

 

“We should begin,” said Lady Wayne, her green eyes shining with secret schemes.

“I think you are right, daughter.”

 

The old man troubled Damian deeply, but he couldn’t yet grasp why. Maybe it was his clothes, heavy and luxurious. Too lush for the mud and the snow outside. Too clean and wrinkle-free. But it was probably the wicked smile he sported since his arrival. Damian Wayne distrusted his grandfather, and felt guilty about it, since the lord had made the perilous voyage from Dorne only to enforce his rights to Waynecastle. He thought he was on the wrong side, facing the Dothraki, the maester, the ghost and Drake. Even Lofti was purring at Alfred’s feet, and here he was, sided by his mother and the grandsire he had never met before.

 

“Very well,” grumbled Timothy Drake, flipping parchments around. “We propose Ser Richard as regent of the castle until Damian comes of age, and then we should meet again to decide if he is worthy of sharing the mantle.”

“ _Worthy_?” hissed Ra’s al Ghul as he gestured in Grayson’s direction. “I must have erred when I thought _he_ was the jester, Lord Drake.”

“Lord Wayne’s last instructions are to leave Richard in charge of those lands, so he does not owe Damian anything, in fact. We offer way more than he could hope for.”

“My beloved’s corpse isn’t yet burned that you take everything from his only child,” joined Talia. “Are you not different from those wildlings?”

 

The ironborn produced a growl.

 

“And you, Jason Todd, have no part in this,” she snapped at him.

“We see where your loyalty lies,” spoke the Dornish elder. “The Lord of Light has mistaken when He let you live again.”

 

The ward huffed and lifted his legs from the table.

 

“Well, sorry to betray you or something, but pretty bird here asked me to listen to you people argue about that castle he doesn’t even want, so here I am, listening.”

“Ungrateful child,” spat Talia.

“Now, now, daughter,” cooed Ra’s al Ghul. “I am sure Jason has yet to prove himself worthy of the mercy of the God of Flames and Shadows, but he will have his chance. For today, let us concentrate on your son.”

 

He stood up and walked around the solar for a while, and Damian watched him as he moved, silent as a cat, hiding his hands in his wide sleeves. Drake cleared his throat, but it was Grayson who talked.

 

“I do not wish to take anything from Damian,” he nearly whispered, “but Bruce put his faith upon me, and it would be a stain on his honor for me to refuse his legacy.”

 

Todd snickered, and the knight glared at him.

 

“We understand this,” agreed the standing man. “Thus the reason I haven’t attacked this ruin you northmen call a castle yet. I know your claim is legitimate, but I also know you have no interest in keeping the title.”

“And you also know that your men are outnumbering ours,” said Drake all of sudden.

 

Ra’s al Ghul smiled, and Damian shivered.

 

“You are very keen for such a young age, my lord. And yes. I am aware that without my gracious help, your village would fall under any incoming raid, as it nearly did a few moons ago. Or was it a year already?”

“Ten months,” corrected the young lord.

“Yes. I see you recovered nicely from your wounds. The sight fills me with joy.”

 

There was an awkward silence where Drake and the other man studied each other with defiance.

 

“Are you suggesting I should yield the lordship to Damian over the threat of your army destroying Gothamtown?” broke Grayson in his angry voice, the jewels around his wrists jiggling lightly.

“Yes,” admitted Talia’s father. “Or actually, I would not myself burn this place to the ground, but let my… acquaintance do it in my stead.”

“Fuck this,” swore Todd, standing up and leaving.

 

Grayson sighed as his gaze followed his ward until he reached the door and slammed it shut, making both Damian and Lofti start.

 

“Damian,” he then called softly, and the youngster jumped in surprise again. “I think we should talk about this alone.”

“Absolutely not,” cut Lady Talia.

 

But Damian wanted to. He wanted to leave this estranged meeting and talk with the gentle knight about his future. He knew he was the only one here missing his father, too. He was almost ready to accept a hug, if it was a promise to keep his grandfather away from destroying his home.

 

“I want to take care of you,” Grayson went on, talking to him only and ignoring the angered woman. “You are such a brilliant child, and I wish I could be the one to pursue your education.”

“What do you mean?” he answered with caution, eyeing his mother once to make sure he was allowed to speak.

“I mean you could become my squire.”

 

Drake had the elegance not to act upset, only a brow twitching, and Damian felt respect for him and his composed allure.

 

“We require more than a jester teaching my grandson combat,” said Ra’s al Ghul, as sweet as honey. “We insist he gets the lordship.”

“What if…,” started Grayson, seemingly thinking out loud.

 

A pause.

 

“What if he gets the lordship, but in due time.”

“What is due time?” snickered the elder.

“When I give over the command.”

 

He smiled at Damian.

 

“I could make him my heir, and this way he would be sure to get the castle, someday I deem him worthy, and you would have the pledge he actually will be the lord, eventually.”

 

Drake hissed.

 

“Now all he has to do is to kill you tomorrow, and Damian will get the lordship.”

 

The handsome knight’s face fell and Ra’s al Ghul laughed.

 

“I do love the way your wits work, my lord,” he crooned to Drake, “but I however enjoy the jester’s idea. So I will add that if he ever dies in… an _uncanny_ way, let us say, Damian shan’t get the titles.”

“Why are you agreeing on this?” complained Talia. “This is nonsense.”

“But,” the Dornish man carried on, “if he ever sires another heir, we _dispose_ of his loved ones, and take Damian home.”

“Here is his home,” protested Grayson. “But fine. I accept.”

“This is madness,” made Drake. “You will have to marry to steady your hold to this castle. You cannot wish to face wildlings and Lannisters without an alliance with another northern House.”

“We will see about that later,” he cut his former squire.

 

Ra’s al Ghul smiled again.

 

“I feel like we came here to give many gifts to you. We saved your castle and village, we let Damian’s interests to your good will, and now we leave without any harm.”

 

He chuckled darkly.

 

“Also, I do feel like you owe the God of Light and Shadow many thanks, for you seem truly reluctant to wed again.”

 

His hand moved toward the encased armor Todd once wore in his youth. Grayson opened his mouth, got flustered, and then closed it.

 

“I would rather appreciate we leave Jason out of this,” he mumbled at last. “Lord Drake, Maester Alfred and I will write our agreement down, and we all should gather again for supper to sign and seal it. We will make you a duplicate too.”

“Perfect. By the time you do this, I will think of the guest gift I would like to have, for it is only courtesy of you to offer me something in exchange of all I did.”

“...Right.”

 

His grandfather and mother rose, so Damian did the same. Without any more words, they left the solar and scurried up to Lord Wayne’s quarters, now occupied by Talia alone. The child waited to be dismissed, so he could go run back and tell everyone how sorry he felt, and to pick up Lofti too. But Ra’s al Ghul deemed important for him to stay, or at least he didn’t mind his young ears learning about his machinations, and so Damian sat quietly on the edge of the bed.

 

“You agreed to their games,” Lady Talia uttered at first. “I did not wish to gamble on my son’s future. I do hope you have a greater plan for this.”

“I do, of course. Do not worry so, sweet daughter. I saw many things in the flames. Grayson already sired a child.”

 

Damian struggled not to yelp in surprise.

 

“He did?” asked his mother, as shocked as he was.

“Yes, but he is not aware of it yet. A letter to his former wife inviting her to visit with the child should provide us with a good enough reason to storm this place and ground it to pebbles and dust. Then we built Damian a new castle, in Dorne, and marry him nicely.”

“Well,” smiled Talia, “I thought you were only wishing Grayson would wed again and sire on his wedding night.”

“He could, too. Assuming he would cease his dalliance with Jason Todd.”

 

She made a disgusted noise.

 

“What shall we do with him? Maybe the Lord of Light made a mistake?”

“He never makes mistakes, you are aware of that, my daughter. Jason Todd has his uses. Since I am the one that breathed back the fire of life into his lungs, it is always easy to see what he is about to do. He is the one that shall tell us the right time to attack. And also, he might rid us of the Joker in due time.”

 

Talia nodded.  


“You need to learn patience, my child, or else you will fall again into disarray and not see the answer even as it lays bare before your eyes.”

 

She smiled.

 

“What are we going to do now, father?”

“We are leaving tonight, after supper.”

“And Damian?”

 

Ra’s al Ghul looked at him for a while, and the child shivered under his gaze.

 

“We leave him here.”

“Are you not afraid he will tell them your plans?”

 

The elder man laughed, the sound short and terrifying.

 

“I know he will not. If he does, I will know, and I never help the ones who do not help me.”

 

His green eyes wrinkled.

 

“And I do have my own idea about how I will make sure everyone and everything go according to plan. And I think you know, too,” he spoke to his daughter.

 

Talia thought for a moment, then a cruel grin appeared on her lovely face.

 

“Father, I am glad I trusted you with this situation.”

“So am I.”

 

When they got downstairs to the great hall for supper, Damian nearly cried in release as he saw Grayson, Alfred and Drake already there. Even Todd had graced them with his presence. He didn’t mind him so much anymore. He approved the fact that he was as wary as him of Ra’s al Ghul, even though he knew him better. He wasn’t hungry though, and he pushed his plate of roasted boar away, the heady smell of it making him queasy. He nibbled on a potato as the silence around the table grew awkward. He had to tell Grayson of the dangers that awaited him, but he was scared. The old man filled him with terror. But he had to find a way, or else everything he loved would be destroyed.

 

“My daughter and I shall leave tonight,” announced the Dornish man. “After we signed this.”

 

He gestured to the parchment on the table, amidst the food and candles.

 

“I will provide you with some ink,” said the maester, fetching an inkpot and a sharpened eagle feather nearby.

 

 _They all want him to leave as soon as possible_ , understood Damian. _I am not the only one who’s afraid of what he might do_. The meal laid mostly untouched by everyone and began to cool down as he watched his grandfather read the treaty and finally scribble his name on the bottom.

 

“We will finish this supper in our rooms,” added the man. “Do not mind us, we will be gone by dawn tomorrow.”

 

And with that, he bowed and left. Talia kissed her son’s forehead and followed her father. As soon as they were gone, Grayson rose and circled the table to join Damian.

 

“Are you alright?” he asked him.

“Yes. I… It is fine.”

“I’m so, so sorry for what is happening right now,” the knight said softly, slicking the child’s hair back. “Everything will be better soon, don’t worry. I’ll name you my heir and they won’t be able to do anything against us anymore.”

 

_I need to tell him._

 

“No,” he managed to squeak.

 

_He will know, don’t say anything. R’hllor sees everything. If he knows, he will come back and kill everyone._

 

“Damian…”

 

Grayson had a soothing voice, and was on his knee so they could be at the same height, and Damian was crying because he couldn’t warn him, and yet he didn’t want to take part of his grandfather’s schemes, and his father was dead, and this was too much for him at once.

 

“Here, don’t worry. It’s not your fault.”

 

And he was being picked up by that man he despised only a few months ago, cradled like a small child. He held him tight and hid his tears into the fancy midnight doublet as he was being carried back into his bedroom, listening to an old Dothraki lullaby Grayson was attempting to hum.

 

“This has been a long day for you, I know. Rest easy now. We will have to be strong, but don’t worry. Tim and I have an idea, and it will settle everything.”

 

He tried to nod, only to smudge snot onto Grayson’s shoulder.

 

“What if…,” he started.

 

_Be strong. If you can’t tell him, then hint him._

 

“What if you want a son, someday,” he managed.

 

The knight’s face fell into sudden melancholy.

 

“Maybe, once everything is over. But now, you are my son.”

 

He smiled a forced smile and kissed the top of Damian’s head, just as his mother had done.

 

“And starting tomorrow, you are also my squire, so be ready.”

“I will,” he promised, hoping he would manage to sleep at all.

 

Grayson helped him out of his clothes, tucked him in and blew his candle out. He let the door open for Lofti to sneak in, and Damian appreciated the gesture. _Mother would always close it, to keep the shadows away_ , he thought to himself, yawning and curling under his coverlets. Only now there weren’t any shadows anymore, he reflected, eyes heavy, just scary relatives and threats of destruction. But Grayson was there, and he swore he would make everything fine again, and Damian wanted to believe that as he fell asleep.

 

 

 


	17. Richard

...

 

His back arched as pleasure rattled his bones, hands curling around Jason’s shoulders in search of a purpose. He gasped his name and went blind for a moment, breath short and elusive, eyelids screwed shut. When he came back to himself, soft lips were against his inner thigh and light fingers were busy drawing soothing patterns on his lower belly. It tickled, and his body shuddered at the feeling.

 

“You alright?” seafoam eyes asked from their place between his legs.

“You have a very twisted understanding of what I mean when I say I want to unwind for a bit,” Dick answered, unable to keep from chuckling.

 

Jason grinned back at him.

 

“I will give you that it was very effective at keeping me distracted from all that fuss about Damian,” the knight added, combing back some unruly hair on Jason’s head.

 

His ward kissed the sweaty skin above his navel.

 

“Don’t talk about the brat when you’re sprawled naked in bed,” he grumbled against the Dothraki. “It kills the mood.”

 

Dick shivered again, mumbling some kind of apology and cursing the other man when he decided to nuzzle a path up his torso.

 

“Do you want me to…,” he started, pointing absentmindedly at the ironborn, suddenly remembering the other’s needs.

“No, I’m fine.”

 

Jason had crawled back above him and Dick felt him against his hip, softened and warm.

 

“How…?”

“You’re very alluring when you’re busy moaning my name,” he admitted in the crook of his neck.

 

That sent another deep quiver of lust down the Dothraki’s spine. He huffed and let Jason suck a new love bite on his throat. The angry bite-marks he used to leave had now evolved into gentler, sweeter reminders of their bed adventures. Dick knew he shouldn’t see more in it than a conscious gesture to keep any other partner at bay, but he still relished in the feeling that it was Jason’s way of establishing their relationship. _Not that we have any_ , he scolded himself. In theory, they were still only sharing heat, and even as they had made their way into a casual routine, they weren’t tied in any sense to each other. And, as Jason gradually stopped escaping reality as soon as they were naked together, he also started leaving to sleep in his own room right after they were both done. Now, he was sometimes staying, sometimes going away, depending on how tired he felt and how miserable Dick made himself appear. But with the thirst gone, as Jason would call it when he had tried to explain how he experienced sex with Dick, came the caring. And with it also came the tender moments, the kissing, the awkwardness, the discovering. The first time they had managed conscious fucking, as Dick had named it to trace the line between the primal, carnal and intuitive moments they had shared at the beginning and the pleasure with a now fully aware Jason, it hadn’t lasted very long, a mere moment before the ironborn was panting in awe above him. Which was flattering, considering how smug he usually was about anything.

 

“Thinking about something nice?” mumbled the deep voice under his ear, sliding a thigh over his.

“Yes.”

 

He hugged Jason closer, nosing the white lock above his brow.

 

“I was thinking about how fast you used to spend yourself, when we first had our true heat sharing nights here.”

 

That got him a snort.

 

“Of course you were thinking about that, you lewd bastard.”

“How come you don’t do that anymore? Did you get… accustomed to it after a while?”

 

Jason lifted his head to outface him.

 

“Are you really complaining I don’t wet my pants before we even get past the kissing part anymore?”

“No, I…” he tried to say.

“Because I’m glad I can actually stick my cock up places and make pretty noises out of you.”

 

Dick choked on his saliva and coughed a bit.

 

“Yes, well… I didn’t mean it that way.”

“So you think I manage to last longer because you turned uglier or something?” the ironborn asked, trying hard not to laugh.

“... No. Just… That maybe you got, I don’t know, less awestruck or…”

“Heh, listen,” Jason cut him. “You are pretty. You’re the prettiest thing in this whole shithole. You’d be the prettiest bird any-damn-where. If I look at you for too long, it makes me forget ugly things actually exist, and then it’s always a shock when I see the replacement afterward. So it’s nothing about you, really, and it’s not that I don’t notice you as much. It’s just that now I can push that in the back of my mind and concentrate in making _you_ spill yourself awkwardly soon.”

 

Dick smiled and leaned in to kiss him, a quick peck on the lips.

 

“Fuck, I get hard the moment you pop one lace open and you think you’re not the most desirable person I’ve ever seen or heard of?” Jason sneered. “You’re such a moron.”

 

The Dothraki’s heart felt tight and light at the affectionate barb, and he had to close his eyes for a while. He fought back nausea and words and stupid butterflies everywhere.

 

“I’m glad you’re here,” he whispered.

 

There was something else he wanted to say, but wouldn’t. He knew Jason wasn’t ready to hear it, and he wasn’t ready to say it either. He knew since a month or so, resented how doomed he was. But he was happy with that secret and the nightly pleasantries and the seldom tender talks. He let his fingers draw along the other man’s back, enjoying the hitch in his breath.

 

“I thought you had all those acts to fill tomorrow to adopt the brat,” mentioned his lover.

 

 _He’s not your lover_ , a voice in his head reminded him.

 

“I do,” he agreed. “Can’t believe I’m finally going to be a father.”

“Can’t believe you’re going to be Bruce. That’s fucked up. Am I bedding Bruce?”

 

Dick laughed and slapped him on the arm.

 

“You’re dumb. And I’m not going to _be_ him, I’m only going to regent his child.”

“And what happens with the replacement?”

 

He sighed.

 

“He’s a lord of his own. I guess I’ll knight him and send him off to where he wants. I would like to keep him as a ward, but I’m afraid he really wishes to go back to Drakesclaw and rebuild everything from scratch.”

“And you don’t want that because he’s going to die there with the wildlings so close.”

“Exactly.”

 

Jason had a pause.

 

“If he becomes your ward too, will we have to sleep with him?”

 

Dick yelled and pushed him off the bed.

 

“By the gods, Jason, no! He’s my little brother.”

 

The other man cackled from the rug on the floor.

 

“Just asking. He replaced me once, he could do it again.”

 

The smile dropped from Dick’s face as the ironborn emerged and sat on the mattress.

 

“Not that way, Jay. You know that.”

“Yeah, I know. T’was a joke.”

 

He kissed his cheek as an apology and rose.

 

“Anyway, that would mean we’d have to challenge the smith or something,” he said as he went hunting for breeches.

 

Dick stared at his glorious naked form.

 

“What do you mean?” he answered after a bit of ogling.

“I mean there’s intense courtship going on between baby bird and that tall smith of his.”

“Really? I thought they were friends, that’s all.”

“Pretty sure you don’t give flowers to friends. Also, friends don’t blush that hard if you ever give ‘em flowers. The brat told me they used to sleep in the same bed when the replacement still had that burn on his back.”

“Maybe he… helped him with his injuries. Like a maester-bed-maid or…”

“... or they’re fucking in the room next to yours and you didn’t even notice.”

 

He gasped in surprise.

 

“No. Tim wouldn’t do that. I mean… He wouldn’t.”

“I agree he totally still looks like his maidenhood is intact.”

 

Dick groaned at the gross mental painting.

 

“They’re probably kissing and exploring a bit, that’s normal at their age. I did the same with Roy.”

 

Jason produced a gagging noise.

 

“You should marry him off before he follows your example and gets dirty with a stupid gingerbread.”

“Hilarious,” Dick said, deadpan. “But I do intend to wed him.”

“He’s going to be overjoyed, I’m sure.”

“Probably not, but we do need any ally we can get if we want peace from those wildlings without the help of the Dornishmen.”

“Ra’s always has a plan, Dick. That man’ll be back someday, for some reason. You should make an army to welcome him, next time.”

“That would mean _I_ would have to wed, too.”

 

Jason shrugged and pulled on pants, sadly covering his backside and keeping his back turned.

 

“You wouldn’t… mind, if I got married?” Dick asked him.

“No. It’s normal. You’re too pretty not to have a wife. And now you’re a lord or something, so… It was only a question of time. Have anyone yet?”

“No,” he answered, a bit of disappointment seeping into his voice at Jason’s lack of interest.

“Good then. Wouldn’t want this to end so soon.”

“It wouldn’t have to end,” he mumbled.

 

The other man growled and turned around, suddenly angry.

 

“Sure, because all I want is to be your salt wife and nothing else for the rest of my pathetic, miserable life. Because I should be so grateful of you, right? Since you didn’t kill me and get me free food as long as I pleasure you?”

 

Dick held in his breath. Jason could switch to rage so easily, it would always throw him off.

 

“You’re not my salt wife,” he managed, keeping his voice low.

“Fuck off, we both know that’s exactly what I am.”

“I don’t see you that way.”

“Oh really? I ain’t free to go where I want, I got to live a castle life because you decided that, and I just sucked your cock. What more do you want as proof?”

“I…”

 

He rubbed his face in his hands. It was way too late to argue about who was the salt wife of who, and he had important treaties to fill in the morrow.

 

“You’re not my salt wife, Jason.”

“Then what am I? Your thrall?”

“No.”

“Your concubine?”

“I’m not even married.”

“Then what? Your _paramour?_ ”

“If you want to.”

 

Jason clicked his mouth shut.

 

“You don’t truly know what that means,” he hissed.

“I know it sounds less insulting than being a salt wife.”

 

The ironborn frowned and shook his head.

 

“In Dorne, a paramour is someone a noble keeps around for sex, but they have the same status a true wife would. But in the north, that means nothing, they’re seen as whores.”

“So it’s a lover.”

“A high ranked lover. Usually a noble only has one, and they can show them around as much as they want. They can inherit, their children can even get the titles.”

“... Like an unmarried wife or husband,” Dick resumed.

“Yes. So I’m not your paramour.”

 

The Dothraki looked at him in the eyes and said nothing. Jason snarled.

 

“I am _not_ your fucking paramour!”

 

That stung. He had to lower his gaze, the sight of the angered ironborn too much to handle. He felt tears prickle under his eyelids and fought them back. _You knew he didn’t love you, don’t act so surprised. He’s not even your lover, why would he want to be your sole, cherished loved one? This is childish. You can’t cry, not right now, not in front of him, or he’ll know._ He tamed his body and didn’t let the sob happen.

 

“For fuck’s sake, pretty bird.”

 

He sounded annoyed, but not so enraged. Dick let out a butchered sigh.

 

“Everytime we talk about that, it ends up like this. Obviously something’s wrong.”

 

_Everytime we talk about that, you remind me you’re only here for the heat sharing._

 

“What makes you sad?” Jason asked, and he was suddenly way closer, kneeling in front of him on the bed.

 

_That you don’t care for me._

 

“Nothing,” he spat, still not glancing up at the other man.

“You know, I’m not patient, and I’m hungry. So it’s your choice. You tell me what’s wrong and we can finally get something for supper, or you stay here and I just go eat and let you deal with that alone.”

“Why do you care?” he snapped back.

“I…”

 

Dick lifted his eyes at the hesitation.

 

“I don’t know. I guess I feel I was a bit too intense about that salt wife thing. You’re not actually forcing me to stay here, and it’s not like I don’t… enjoy this.”

“And what is ‘this’?” he pushed, because he needed to know.

“You know, this. Being with you.”

“Naked?”

“Not only naked.”

 

Jason had said it so softly it made his bones melt. He suppressed the soaring hope and tried a small smile.

 

“Why don’t you want to be my paramour?”

 

He knew it was a risky question, that he went too far, too soon. The ironborn seemed confused at first, then sorrowful, and finally furious. Dick didn’t like it and immediately regretted voicing his interrogation.

 

“I’m sorry,” he quickly mumbled. “I shouldn’t have asked you…”

 

Jason punched him square on the jaw, hard enough to knock him to the side.

 

“What…”

“Shut up!”

 

The ironborn tried to hit him again, but this time Dick dodged.

 

“What the fuck, Jay!?”

“It’s not that I don’t _want_ to be your fucking paramour, you moron! We can’t.”

“Why can’t we?”

 

Jason laughed a joyless laugh and pushed him to roll farther in the bed.

 

“Fuck, Dick, you know why!” he yelled. “Sometimes I wake up and I’m in the replacement’s room with a knife and I don’t remember getting there. I have to fight with myself all the time to _stay there_ when I’m with you. My good dreams are the one where I kill almost all your family, and then some. When you told me you’d have to get married, the first idea I had was to burn every girl in town to make sure it wouldn’t happen. This is what I do, and that’s my best, because I try so hard for you, I really do, and it’s already driving me insane. I try so fucking much, and you don’t even see it.”

“I did…”

“Shut up,” he repeated. “I can’t do more than that, I can’t. So this… thing, this heat sharing thing, it’s nice, I like it, but it won’t last. I’m too damaged, and you’re too… fucking precious. I’ll hurt you too much one day, and you’ll have enough, and you’ll find someone better, and I don’t want to hate you for that, so shut your mouth and let’s keep things that way, or I’ll run away like I should have done months ago.”

 

Dick swallowed the words without a sound, keeping his emotions in check. He had many questions about Jason’s fear of being replaced again, or what he genuinely meant for him, but he chose to ignore them.

 

“I’m in love with you,” he said instead.

 

The ironborn tried another blow at him, but Dick held his forearm forcefully, and the fist landed in the pillow instead. He guessed he had deserved that. He didn’t care if he hurt Jason’s feelings anymore. All he wanted was a bit of honesty, at last. He was too tired to hide anyway.

 

“Fuck you,” the other man answered in a low shaky voice. “You can’t… You can’t say things like that.”

“It’s the truth,” he whispered back, loosening his grip on the arm. “You make me happy, and I don’t understand why.”

 

Jason seemed very distressed, eyes blown wild. _He’s gone_ , Dick thought sadly to himself. He knew arguing with Jason in that state would either end up in a fight or in violent mating. And he was up for neither, so he decided to try to calm him down, petting his cheek with his free hand.

 

“It’s alright if you don’t feel the same way,” Dick assured. “You don’t have to hit me.”

 

The other man stared at him in shock.

 

“How can someone like you love someone like me?” he choked out.

“And what is someone like me?”

“Perfect.”

“I’m not perfect, Jay.”

“Yes you are.”

 

Dick sighed and escaped the bed to get some clothes on. Talking was useless, and if he was to throw punches too, he wouldn’t want to do it in his birth day attire. Also, he had learned soon enough that giving Jason space would always help, and that holding him close would make him freak out even more. Once he was dressed, he turned back to his not-lover to assess the situation. His shoulders were slumped down, and he didn’t look so aggressive anymore, even though his knuckles were white around the sheets. His gaze was on the floor, so Dick couldn’t see his face.

 

“Come, Jay, we should get something to eat.”

“Why do you want me to be your paramour?”

 

His voice was far away, but gentle. The Dothraki took a while to answer, trying to word it so it wouldn’t scare the ironborn off.

 

“I want you by my side, that’s all. Today, I was glad you went to the meeting with me, but your presence was unjustified, because you’re only my ward. I don’t want to rule over this place alone, but with you it seems less awful. Everything here seems less awful since you came back, actually.”

“So it’s only political.”

“No,” Dick chuckled. “Quite the contrary. I love you…”

 

Jason had a visible shudder at that, and he wondered if it was good or bad.

 

“... and only you. To me, you’re not only a lover between others, you know. If you were a woman, I would have asked your hand already, so maybe this is my way to do it with a man.”

“I’m not sure I want to marry you.”

 

 _I know_ , Dick wanted to scream. The wedding analogy was a bit too much.

 

“I don’t want to marry you either, Jay. All I want is... “

 

_What do I want, in fact?_

 

“... I want to keep you with me as long as possible and… I fear that if… it’s only about sex, then one day you’ll get tired and go, and it won’t matter, because that’s all it was. Sex.”

 

Jason hummed, as if he understood.

 

“You’re a moron,” he told the knight.

 

Dick snorted. He was aware of that.

 

“It’s already more than sex, and you know it,” the ironborn went on. “If it was only that we wouldn’t be talking right now. You’d be on your four being fucked into a bloody mess on that rug.”

 

He shivered with pleasure at the idea.

 

“And of course, that turns you on, you sick bastard.”

 

He sounded amused, and that was definitely a good sign. Dick slowly made his way back to the ironborn and slid his fingers into his thick, dark hair, staring down at him. Beautiful seafoam eyes were normal again and flickered with the dying fire in the hearth.

 

“You’re my lover,” the Dothraki announced more than asked.

“Took you long enough to figure it out.”

 

It made him so happy Dick started to giggle nervously, feeling giddy at the rush of emotions that coursed through his mind and heart. Jason had a shy smile on, and it was so endearing he bent down and kissed him. The angle was awkward, with him standing and Jason sitting, but it was nice, and the ironborn was pliant and sweet.

 

“We should really get something to eat,” he whispered when they broke off, feeling his belly rumble at its current emptiness.

 

This time, when Jason smirked, the smugness was back with full force.

 

“Oh, I know what I’m hungry for.”

 

He pulled Dick closer by the hips, so his face was almost meeting with the Dothraki’s crotch. The man stumbled a bit against the bed and hiked one knee onto it to keep from falling.

 

“Jay, what are you…”

 

His lover’s hand slipped on his arse and kneaded roughly as his tongue licked a long stripe against his breeches’ lace. Dick made an embarrassing noise and held on to Jason’s shoulders. The other man mouthed him through the cloth, and even though he didn’t feel everything, the heat alone was enough to leave him panting under the sudden lust. All he wanted now was to have Jason’s mouth on him again, his lips, slick and tight and so, so warm.

 

“Ser.”

 

Jason jumped in surprise and efficiently hit him in the most sensitive parts with his chin. Dick hissed in pain and turned around, cursing under his breath.

 

“What?” he snapped at the intruder.

 

He nearly laughed when he saw it was Tim’s smith. The young man kept interrupting them in the worst moments. But he usually knocked first, and his random boldness was worrisome.

 

“Sorry, Ser, but it’s Tim.”

“What about him?”

 

The smith played with a callus on his thumb.

 

“Conner, answer me. What is wrong with Tim?”

 

The youngster winced.

 

“He’s not there, Ser. He’s not anywhere. He was supposed to meet me in the library, but it’s late now and he never came. I went looking around and he’s nowhere. I found this on his pillow, but the letters are too weird and I can’t read them.”

 

He handed him a small piece of parchment. The handwriting was small and fluid, very elegant.

 

“It says _‘Thank you for the gift.'"_ Dick read out loud.

 

Then, it dawned on him, and horror filled him.

 

“He took him. He took Tim.”

 

 


	18. Conner

 

...

 

He was beyond himself with rage. He prowled the hallway, disturbing a few dust bunnies that ran before his feet. The weird serving maid with the long black hair was looking at him thoughtfully and he almost wanted to punch her.

 

“Why isn’t he doing anything?” Conner screamed after a while.

“His sorrow is too strong. He lost a brother.”

“I don’t care. I lost my best friend, and I’m not lying around being useless! He’s the lord now. He can do something. I can’t.”

“He can’t either. Not now.”

 

He growled and kept pacing. He was waiting for an audience with the new Lord of Waynecastle, but the man obviously couldn’t even make it to his own door.

 

“This is ridiculous,” he spat at no one.

 

The girl stepped forward and patted his shoulder.

 

“Someone will come and meet you. Contain your anger.”

 

And with that she left in a corner of shadow. Sometimes Conner wondered if she was only a dream wisp, appearing when he needed help. _Not like she’s being helpful so far._

The door opened before him, and from there emerged a man. He recognized the one Tim was so afraid of, but turned out to be Ser Richard’s... bedmaid of sorts.

 

“I asked to speak with the lord,” he noticed out loud, not caring if he was being disrespectful.

“I know. He can’t talk to you right now.”

“Too bad. I’ll wait here until he can.”

 

The man sighed. He seemed very tired, with his wolf eyes sleepy and his face pale. He wasn’t even properly dressed, only a pair of pants and a half-buttoned sleeve. A perpetual frown was there too, telling Conner the man was probably prone to anger too.

 

“Look,” he said at last. “Dick can’t talk to anybody right now. I know you. You’re the one… having fun with little Timmy, right?”

“I was his friend,” he agreed.

“Well, that sucks for you. I know. I’ve lost friends too. But he can’t do anything for you. The small Baratheon king just died, and the North's being attacked by everyone. Dick doesn’t even have a standing army. He has no one to spare, even for his precious baby brother. And believe me, if he could do something about it, he would. He would be the one to go and fetch him himself if he could, but obviously he can’t because he has a whole fucking lordship to manage. So please, stop being annoying about it.”

 

The bedmaid was right, he realized sadly. Ser Richard had loved Tim as much as he did, and wouldn’t stay idle if he had the choice.

 

“I’m sorry,” he told the other man. “I didn’t understand… I’m sorry. I just wanted to do something.”

 

Another sigh.

 

“You want to help?”

“Yes,” he answered eagerly.

“Fine. Just… follow me, I guess. And shut up about it. I don’t want the word to get out that the new lord’s sick. I didn’t even let the brat see him. Didn’t want to ruin his hero for him, or something.”

“What happened?” Conner inquired.

“He fell sad.”

 

They entered the lord’s bedroom and the smith almost stumbled on a chair, since the room was so poorly lit. Once his eyes had adjusted to the meek candlelight, he could see the knight curled onto his bed, swallowed by many pillows and furs. The wolf man made a cooing noise and called out softly to him.

 

“Come on. Someone’s here to see you.”

 

He gently peeled off the blankets hiding the lord’s face. _They love each other_ , Conner suddenly understood. There was nothing in the room but the two men’s belongings, and by the way Ser Richard gripped the other’s hand as he got into sitting, he knew he was witnessing a secret.

 

“Jay.”

 

 _He’s called Jason_ , he also remembered Tim telling him, spitting the name as if it were poison, even though the hatred had stopped some weeks before his abduction.

 

“I don’t want…,” the knight grumbled, and then was cut by his own shudder.

 

The crying felt dry and cracked to Conner’s ears, as if it hadn’t stopped in a few days.

 

“Eh. Come on. This is Tim’s friend, remember?”

 

There was a weak nod, but it did nothing to stop the shaking.

 

“Maybe you could talk to him. He wants to help you.”

“No. He can’t...”

 

An especially violent sob took him, and Jason cradled him against his chest, stroking his hair with care.

 

“He’s more than sad,” Conner had to state.

“Yeah.”

 

A pause, the man nosed the knight’s head.

 

“I don’t know what to do anymore,” he admitted suddenly, breaking the silence.

“He’s been like that for a while?”

“Since the moment he understood the replacement wasn’t near the village anymore.”

“It’s been a week.”

“I know.”

 

Conner sat on the chair and listened to the muffled weeping. He felt like crying too, most of the time, when he thought about it. But then he had decided anger was going to get him to act, and that it was better than waiting.

 

“Why are you taking care of him?” he wondered.

“I couldn’t let him alone. It’s going to get away, eventually. He did that before.”

“Really?” Conner made, surprised.

“Sure. One time when we were in battle, when I was younger. He doesn’t like killing people. He cried for the two days it took us to head home. And he did it again when Bruce died.”

“The former lord?”

“Yeah. T’was like a father to him, literally. But it didn’t last long. He was there to help the brat with it, so he didn’t let himself get too sad. Now I think he’s going to cry for both Bruce _and_ baby bird. He needs it, I get it, but…”

 

The knight was silent, and Conner hoped he had fallen asleep.

 

“He’s getting better,” Jason went on. “Yesterday he wouldn’t eat. But today he broke his fast, and took a bath. I had to drag the gingerbread to help with that, but at least it got the stink off.”

“That’s good news.”

“He’ll be fine next week.”

“And then what? Will he send someone to save Tim?”

“He can’t. I already told you that.”

 

Conner chewed on his lip. He couldn’t wait another week to see if the lord would tell him the same thing. By then the Dornishmen would be too far for him to catch up.

 

“I’ll go myself,” he decided aloud.

 

The man snorted.

 

“Good luck with that. Do you even have an idea who you’re running after? This is Ra’s al Ghul. An army couldn’t bring back dear Timmy, less a smith with absolutely no training.”

“Tim showed me how to handle a sword,” he countered.

“Good for you, but that won’t do.”

“I don’t care. I’m not going to stay here and wait until a miracle happens.”

 

He couldn’t see in the dark, but he was sure the other man just rolled his eyes at him.

 

“Fine. Can you read a map?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll show you where he’s getting baby bird. He has a stronghold in Dorne, near the sea at Lemonwood. You’d be better to get there by boat. That’s probably what he did. You have no chance of getting to him by land, and it’s too well defended. He has an army, but it’s hidden. Dornish call them the Shadows. They’re useless on water though, if that can help. They have poisoned blades, so they don’t even have to hit you good to kill you. Beware of them, I’m serious.”

 

Conner nodded. He was aware it wouldn’t be easy, but he hadn’t realized so many people were involved in this.

 

“Also, make sure Talia doesn’t catch you. She’ll know you from the castle, and she’ll get you killed. She has a keen eye for known faces. And she’s a Shadow, too, and I suppose the best of them.”

“Lady Talia?” the smith wondered.

 

She seemed meek and too elegant to be strong, the few times he had seen her.

 

“She’s as deadly as she’s pretty. She trained me, I know what I’m talking about.”

“Really? How so?”

“Urg. Long story. You don’t have to know that.”

 

He rose from the bed, and Richard didn’t protest, flopping back into being a lifeless bulge between the blankets. Jason flipped through a few parchment on the table near him.

 

“Anyway. Here’s your map. Dorne’s right there. And we’re here.”

“That’s a long way to go,” observed Conner, startled by how south Dorne actually was.

“Yeah. A few weeks by boat. A few years by foot.”

“Oh.”

“So don’t get your ship on a rock.”

“I won’t.”

 

Then something else occurred to him.

 

“I don’t own a boat.”

“Can be fixed. Dick owns about twelve of ‘em, back from his pirate days. All stationed in Karhold. He doesn’t use them. Take any. I’d sail it, if I gave any damn about that kid, but…”

 

His gaze shifted back to the bed.

 

“It’s fine. I’ll find someone else,” Conner lied.

 

He had no idea who he might ask. The wolf man considered him for a while.

 

“You might actually stand a chance. He won’t see you coming. He’s expecting an army not… that. Try not to die, though.”

“I’ll try. I want to bring him home.”

 

Jason nodded, and just like that he was being dismissed.

 

“Tell the brat to fuck off if he’s at the door again. Tell him we’re too busy drowning our new room in… Wait, you guys don’t drown babies here, right?”

“... No, we don’t.”

“Then never mind the drowning bit. Tell him we’re too busy fucking on everything he loves.”

“... Will do.”

 

But he didn’t, when he escaped the dark room and stumbled on the small, angry lording.

 

“Ser Richard is busy with plans for the castle,” he decided to tell.

“‘Tt,” he was being answered shortly, before the child stomped away and disappeared.

 

He ignored him and went back to his smithy to think for a while. He had to find someone to conduct the ship. He had to find people to defend that ship against well-trained warriors. He had to take Tim from a guarded stronghold. The whole lot of it made him queasy.

 

“Eh. Eh, Conner.”

 

He jumped in surprise and turned to frown at Bart.

 

“What?”

“What are you doing? You looked dumb.”

“I was thinking about saving Tim.”

“What? Again?” complained the groom. “My friend, you need to let go of that idea. He’s in a better place now.”

“No he’s not. And I want to get him home.”

 

The shorter man threw himself over the anvil, swooning dramatically.

 

“We should go downtown and get somewhere interesting,” he proposed with a smirk.

“I’m not going to go whoring with you,” Conner hissed.

“You’re no fun. What can I do to help you?”

 

He shook his head.

 

“Can you sail a boat? Ser Richard would lend me one.”

“Yeah. I’ve done that when I was younger. My mother used to take me to watch all kind of whales and sea creatures when I was a child. Even met a mermaid once!”

“You can sail a boat?” he repeated, flabbergasted.

“It can’t be complicated. What do you need that for anyway?”

“I need to get to Dorne, and by sea. To get Tim.”

“Get there by horse.”

“It’s too far,” he countered.

“Sell the ship and get good horses.”

“Shut up with your horses, Bart.”

 

The groom closed his mouth.

 

“Ser Richard lent me one of his ships, and I have some coins to spare for food and everything. I don’t need a big team with me, just a few people. This way we go and pick Tim and come back easily.”

“Then I can go with you,” offered the younger man. “It’s not like I traveled much lately. And there’s nothing holding me back here.”

“There’s a high risk that we all die, you know,” admitted Conner.

“I don’t mind. They’d have to catch me to kill me, and I’ve never met someone as fast as me.”

“If you say so.”

 

Still, they couldn’t manage a whole ship, being only the two of them.

 

“Victor and I can help.”

 

For once he didn’t yelp in distress when the kitchen girl appeared out of the corner of the smithy, but Bart rolled off the anvil, fell to the ground and grunted.

 

“Seriously woman, you need to learn to use doors,” he grumbled, picking himself up.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “We can help.”

“What’s the cook and you going to help with, exactly?” pushed the groom, eyeing her with suspicion.

“He will feed you. And you do not know how to lead a ship. He does.”

 

Conner considered her.

 

“And you. What will you do?” he asked her.

 

He didn’t want any extra mouth to feed, nor people to take care of and protect from certain death. She nodded and stepped closer. He tried not to jerk away when she grabbed his arm. Her hand felt cold and clammy. He tried to protest, but when he turned to her, she wasn’t there, and he wasn’t in the dark smithy anymore. He was on a beach, with round pebbles under his feet. He was wet and confused, and as he looked around he noticed corpses rolling on the shore with the waves. Bart was laying there, too, white-faced. Dead.

 

“We need to hurry.”

 

He looked up to the voice, and was now in the desert, or what he imagined was a desert. Sand everywhere, in his mouth, in his eyes, in his boots, and the wolf man was staring at him as if he were an idiot. He wanted to ask him what he was doing there, why he wasn’t with Ser Richard anymore, but something else caught his eye. Sitting like the king of dunes was Tim, beautifully wrapped in a blue fabric he’d never seen before, seemingly frustrated and being held up by a tall, dark woman with fire in her hair.

 

“Tim?” he called out, but in the next breath he was back near his stool in the smithy, and Bart was frowning at him.

“What the horseshit just happened?” asked the groom.

“I… I don’t know.”

 

He searched the kitchen girl’s face, but she didn’t say anything. Conner suddenly feared he had seen glimpses of truth.

 

“What you know you need to keep,” murmured the girl, and he understood.

 

He glanced at Bart.

 

“He won’t believe you,” she said again, with latent sadness in her words.

“What? What are you two talking about? It seems fun,” babbled the groom.

“It’s… Erm… She knows how to swim, so that could be helpful,” he fabled awkwardly.

“As if she could hoist us. I mean, I’m not fat like you, but still…”

“Eh,” complained Conner at the small barb. “I’m not fat. I have heavy bones, that’s all.”

 

At least that’s what Tim used to say, chuckling under the blankets in the morning, failing at pushing him away and off the bed. He never rolled over him on purpose, but he couldn’t say he hated it, waking up to the smaller man worming against him.

 

“Anyway,” he said, shaking off ideas of Tim’s warmth and lithe frame. “The cook and the kitchen maid can come.”

“You’re the captain,” proclaimed Bart. “You decide.”

 

A pause.

 

“Where’s the dock anyway?” he wondered out loud.

“Karhold, wherever that is,” answered Conner.

“The map will show it,” said the girl. “The journey isn’t long.”

 

They all nodded at her.

 

“So here’s the plan,” announced Bart. “You get the cook, I get the horses, and we pack our belongings tonight. You big guy get us more gold too, just in case, and proof that the lord actually gives us the ship. We go forth tomorrow at dawn. We sail, we get Lord Prissypants back and we sit in our riches until the end of time, since Ser Richard will surely be very glad we got his precious little brother home.”

 

Conner laughed.

 

“Sounds like we have the best of plans.”

 

Bart smiled at him, all toothy grin and freckles, and patted the girl’s shoulder.

 

“Let’s get stupidly rich, my friends! To Karhold!”

 


	19. Timothy

 

...

 

He woke up with the worst headache of his life. His neck was stiff, his shoulders wanted to kill him, and he was very thirsty. He moved to his side and nausea took him. He retched on the floor, yellow bile and no food. He felt like it wasn’t the first time he’d been sick in the day, since he was so weak and dizzy. He groaned and fell back in his bed. But it wasn’t his bed. There was a crucial lack of furs and wool, and instead there were silky sheets and warm, soft knits of unknown nature. Tim rolled under the blankets to hide his eyes from the sunrays seeping through the ceiling, and tried to get back to sleep. The attempt proved vain, for someone entered the room almost immediately.

 

“You have been seasick again.”

 

He uncovered his face and considered Lady Talia for a while. She appeared frustrated and disgusted as she glanced at his mess on the ground.

 

“Sea?” he asked, and winced when his throat refused to let the words happen.

“Oh, you have awaken. I will tell Father so.”

“Wait,” he said when she moved toward the door.

 

She turned. Her hair was loose and falling in lazy curves down her back. She was wearing dark leather breeches and a shiny blouse that didn’t cover her bosom quite enough.

 

“Where am I?” Tim made out, trailing his fingertips on the mellow bed spread.

“You are aboard the _Lazarus_ , my dear. We are now just past Widow’s Watch, and if the winds are so generous, we should arrive at Sunspear in a few weeks.”

“Window’s Watch… But that’s… many days of travel from Waynecastle…”

“You were very sleepy. You might not remember much.”

“... Yes, that makes sense.”

 

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her green eyes.

 

“Servants will bring you food and water. Tell them if you want anything else.”

 

He nodded, and she left. He waited for a while, and now that he knew he was on a boat he understood the soft rocking going on with his body. It didn’t help though, and soon enough he vomited again, but this time he had found his chamber pot and coughed in it. A maid came in with a wipe and she scrubbed the wooden floor clean from his puddle of spew, while a young boy put a small engraved plank on the bed to deposit grapes, cheese, a cup of fresh water and a few leaves of mint. Tim mumbled his thanks, but they didn’t look like they understood the Common Tongue, and they left in a haste. He sipped at the cup, trying not to upset his stomach once more, and breathed deeply. He felt panic rise in the back of his mind as he slowly realized he had been abducted. Obviously by Talia, but more probably by her father. Was Damian part of the plan too? _I wouldn’t think so, he is too enamored with Dick to betray him._ Nonetheless, he needed a plan to escape. _I know how to swim. If I jump far enough and if the coast is close enough, I could make it._ And then what, walk all the way back to Waynecastle in wet boots? It was a stupid idea, he scolded himself. He popped one grape into his mouth and chewed it until its juice overcame the bile aftertaste, then swallowed warily.

 

“Glad to meet you again in the realm of reality, Lord Drake.”

 

_Speaking of bile aftertaste._

 

“Good day to you, Ser,” he answered politely.

 

_As long as I don’t know what’s going on, I better make myself pleasant enough he doesn’t decide to kill me after all._

 

“Talia told me you can hardly bear maritime travelling. Please accept my deepest apologies for the inconvenience. I can assure you the amenities at my venue are worth suffering this lame excuse for a suitable bedroom.”

“The sickness will go away soon enough,” Tim conceded. “It usually doesn’t last a day.”

“To hear this fills my spirit with joy. Feel free to join me on the deck, once you have recovered your forces.”

“Ser…”

“Please call me Ra’s, my lord. We are bound to become very close.”

 

He smiled and Tim swallowed nervously.

 

“Also note that clothes are at your disposition. I pray hope they fit you as well as I envisaged it.”

“... Thank you. But… If I can ask, why am I here?”

 

The old man chuckled, and it sent shivers of anguish down Tim’s spine.

 

“Very well, Timothy. I will tell you the reason of your presence aboard my very own ship.”

 

He sat down on the bed, and took one grape between two of his long, wry fingers.

 

“The official explanation is, I needed to enforce the contract we signed with Ser Grayson. He keeps Damian, and I keep you. I had to take someone close to him, but we cannot endure Todd, and he is, alas, too hard to contain. I think the jester is intelligent enough to understand the threat in this action.”

“It was not in the deal,” chided Tim.

“It was, my lord. I have the right to dispose of his family members, remember?”

 

He nodded. Unfortunately, he was right, and even though no one expected this clause to allow kidnapping, it wasn’t properly illicit. Tim groaned. Dick truly shouldn’t have let this on the treaty.

 

“What is the unofficial explanation, then?” he asked, wondering why the other man had chosen such a peculiar way of phrasing.

 

Ra’s al Ghul grinned even harder and gulped the grape.

 

“Exactly this, Timothy. This beautiful, acute mind you possess. I could not help but notice your potential. You are still young, but you could easily become a great strategist in a few years, with proper training, of course. _My_ great strategist, perhaps.”

“In your dreams,” he spat, beyond himself with disgust.

 

 _Forget being polite_ , he thought, _all this man wants is a new servant, and there’s no way I’ll betray Dick like that_. The old Dornishman bowed his head, laughing softly.

 

“Come what may, my dear lord. But do reflect on that.”

 

He rose in a swift movement, smoothening the inexistent creases in his robe.

 

“For now, rest easy. I do not expect you to make such decisions yet. Once we land, we will have this discussion again.”

“Do I even have a choice?” asked Tim, hating how he sounded like a petulant child.

“You do.”

“Serve you or die?”

 

The creepy snicker was back.

 

“No, no. I could not afford to kill you just yet. I would rather suggest that you have an option to… raise your condition, let us say. You are, after all, only my prisoner. Prisoners hardly have any rights of their own. But if you make yourself useful to me…”

 

He moved his hand around, leaving the words to hang. Tim frowned. Useful could mean a lot of things, and he wasn’t convinced he wanted any kind of alliance with this sinister man. But then again, what would he do? Rot in a dark cell until Dick came to fetch him? Would that even happen? He had no man to spare to come and save him, Tim knew that. So he didn’t truly have any weight in those arrangements, after all.

 

“I will consider your offer,” he finally said.

 

Ra’s al Ghul smiled, thin lips stretching over a sharp, white set of teeth.

 

“Please take your time. We have a long travel ahead of us.”

 

He left with that and closed the door behind him. Tim now only noticed his bedroom, how small and wooden it was. But how pretty, too. The bedding was fabulously done, sewn gold and crimson. The walls were covered in thick tapestries picturing horses and men in yellow with spears killing dumb-looking opponents. All this fabric hanging everywhere muted the outside world, leaving the sea as a soft whisper. There was a plush rug on the floor, orange and a faded red, of leaves intertwined together. He put his feet on it and let his toes curl into the material. He decided he was stable enough not to vomit everywhere, so he walked around to the clothes placed upon a chair in the corner. He nearly whimpered at how magnificent they were. So soft and velvety. Bright against his skin, but not too much they would make him appear too pale. He snickered at the idea. Kon had once told him he sometimes looked dead when he slept.

 _Kon_ , he realized with a start. _I have to get back to him._ They had important things to settle, and the smith could almost read a whole sentence now, he couldn’t stop right then and lose all the progress they had made. And that one kiss they had almost shared. He shivered pleasantly at the memory of the other man leaning over him, so close but yet not touching him. _If I get off this boat, I could probably swim fast enough to reach Waynecastle in a few weeks. Would he miss me at all? Would he want me to come back? Would he come into my bed late into the night and breathe into my hair again?_ If he would, then Tim would fake not to notice his hand curling around his side, and in the next morning he would very accidently push his backside against Conner’s lap and hear him moan softly in his sleep, and cherish the sweet memory later, once he’d be alone.

His thoughts were going the wrong way, Tim knew. He breathed deeply to tame the random rush of lust he was experiencing. This was only friendship with an attractive man. He had managed it for years with Dick, he would manage it with Conner too when he would get back. Even though Dick had never cuddled with him in the middle of the night, or tickled his nape with his nose. There was that one time he had asked an awfully young Tim to paint his whole body with blue ink, in precise, tiny ethnic patterns with a fine brush. Tim had dutifully done it, even the curve of his arse and the smooth place in the hollow of his thighs, trying really hard not to look anywhere while doing that. Then he had listened to someone else loudly enjoy the sight. Tim huffed to himself at Dick’s overall silliness. All he wanted to hug the foolish handsome knight, all of the sudden. _This situation is unbearable. I need to deal someway out with Ra’s al Ghul._

He pulled on the robe that resembled the one the Dornishman was wearing. It felt like clouds and warm water surrounding him, swiping his ankles. Small boiled leather slippers were waiting too, and they fitted him perfectly. This was worrisome, but also oddly comfortable as a guest.There was a lingering smell of burning incense and dark wood, and of spices Tim didn’t know the name of. His stomach grumbled and he ate some more grapes, and even tried the cheese. It wasn’t hard and strong like the ones they used to buy at Gothamtown, but spongier under his teeth, subtle in taste, a bit like fresh goat milk. He then took all the courage that was left in his guts and opened the creaky door. The sea air all at once attacked his face, spitting salty water right into his eyes. He blinked stupidly, blinded by the sun too. _I hate the sea._ Nonetheless, he made his way toward the railing, not staggering enough to make a fool of himself. He gripped it for dear life with he reached it and let the furious wind turn his hair into a sticky mess.

 

“You look splendid, my lord.”

 

He acknowledged Ra’s presence at his side again. _Won’t be able to escape him much, I’m afraid. This is his boat, and I’m pretty sure I can’t even lock my cabin’s door._

 

“The southern style agrees with your figure. It renders justice to your blood.”

 

_What in the name of the old gods…_

 

“My blood has very little to do with my looks. Every other ancient Drake was way taller, while I look exactly like my mother.”

“Then she must have been a very gracious lady.”

“Yes, she was. Before your friend killed her.”

“Now, now,” he hushed him. “We all concur the Joker has motives of his own, that may or may not go accordingly to mine. The destruction of your village was not my doing, nor my plan.”

“Sure. And neither was torturing Jason Todd, am I right?”

 

The old man turned his pointy face away.

 

“Jason Todd was reckless, Timothy. I did not ask for his death, but… he was disturbing my greater plan. It was a timely casualty.”

 

Tim felt sick yet again, but this time the waves had nothing to do with it.

 

“This is disgusting.”

“This is war. People die, Timothy. Someone wins, and someone loses. It is all a question of choosing the right side, is it not?”

“The right side is certainly not with the wildlings.”

“Is it not? What do we know of their ideals? Of their struggles? What is going on in the Kingdom Beyond the Wall? Do we really know what pushes them to attack villages and raid them? One must suffer a lot to attempt such an impossible feat, when they only wear furs and spar with trained knights in armors.”

 

Tim wasn’t convinced. In his life, too many incidents were caused by the savages for him to forgive them so easily. They would never accept yielding, or even discuss truces. They were immoral, godless, and little could Ra’s al Ghul do to change his mind.

 

“Tell me, how do you feel about your family?” the elder asked, changing topics at once, probably taking his silence as an agreement.

“They are dead, there is not much to think about,” Tim answered shortly.

“I meant your ancestors. What do you think of their ending?”

“The Drakes all lived to chase off wildlings from their lands, and to turn the Gift into a livable place for their people. Some of them died that way, and I think I would like to die this way too.”

“The Drakes surely have a great history of surviving harsh and hostile territory. But what about your prime forefathers?”

 

Tim sighed. He knew where the other man was getting at.

 

“You want to know what I think about the Targaryens?” he demanded, just to be sure.

“Yes. Do you feel any link to them nowadays? Would you like to know what your distant cousins are about?”

“No. I am not a Targaryen, this is as much physically true as it is not my family’s name since centuries. And I do not care about the former king’s grandchildren. Actually I thought they were all dead.”

 

He perfectly knew two of them had survived and had flee to the other side of the sea, but he truly didn’t care much for idle gossip about now-probably-deceased people.

 

“Oh, but you do resemble them, my lord,” crooned Ra’s.

 

He smiled again and looked at Tim.

 

“Surely, northern blood had tainted your hair darker and your eyes less purple, but it is all about the allure, the stance, the royal air, and you have all of those, believe my words.”

“This is utter nonsense.”

 

The Dornish man shook his head.

 

“There was a time I had befriend Rhaella Targaryen, sisterwife of the Mad King. She was a grand woman. I could not help but notice how you have her manners, her ways of being, as odd as it seems.”

“This seems unlikely.”

“Yet true. If only she was still walking amongst the living, I could have arranged a meeting. You would have become fast friends.”

“Probably not. Royalty pays little interest to smaller Houses.”

“Maybe they should,” the old man said, mischievous.

 

Tim breathed in the sea air for a while, seeking calm for his mind by looking at the horizon. _At least it’s not raining._

 

“Why so many questions, Ra’s?” he asked, thoughtful. “What do you intent to achieve with such trite information?”

“Many great things, my lord. We win wars with idle gossip.”

“And which war is it, this time?”

 

The man smiled.

 

“I am afraid I need more loyalty on your part before I share such plans, my lord.”

“Obviously,” Tim agreed.

 

The Dornishman turned and bowed his head.

 

“You must find this conversation utterly tiresome, poor boy. You should rest before supper, and prepare your appetite for later on. We will be having roasted veal.”

 

His stomach grumbled at the thought of an actual meal. He wished he would eat in the hall at Waynecastle, his plate filled with mashed potatoes and turnip and carrots, the meat turning and cooking slowly in the fire. He wished he could sit by Dick and get one of those flashing white smile from him as he took his fork with the wrong hand, being the odd left-handed acrobat he was. He wished for the flare on his master’s golden jewels as he moved near the hearth, for the dimples on his cheeks when he laughed, for Damian’s cat purring at his feet, for Jason’s deep voice complaining about politics and northern weathers, for the brat’s snarky comments. He wished for home, for Alfred’s wistful gaze, for Conner’s warm presence. He felt tears welling in the corner of his eyes. The castle seemed so far away, yet an escape was still doable.

Tim nodded towards Ra’s al Ghul and left him to walk along the ship’s prow. He was tired, if he were to be truthful with himself. _Maybe I should wait until I have all my forces back…_

 

“No,” he scolded the cowardly voice in his head.

 

 _Well. This is going to be unpleasant._ He lifted a leg over the rail and flipped the other above the splashing water. The coast was visible afar. He had no idea where he was, and to where he would manage to swim, if he could swim at all, but this was better than nothing. Someone was yelling something in a honeyed language he didn’t know, so he hurried and let go. Tim fell, and as soon as he touched the gushing seawater his whole body screamed. It was beyond cold. He knew the freezing winds and the snow-filled boots of the summer bad weathers in the North, but this was something else. He realized he couldn’t breathe, and that his eyes would burn if he’d try to open them to see where he was about. _I’m going to drown_ , he understood as his arms tried to flail around him to push him somewhere safe. Everything was white and heavy and haling him around. The sound of a great clash of waves made him start and notice he had managed to reach the surface, somehow. His lungs engulfed as much air as they could, but he choked on some salty splatter. He coughed until it tasted like blood in his mouth, his mind dizzy. _Swim_ , he ordered. His legs obeyed and started kicking toward the misty coast. He was already sore and weary, but he had to try. _Or I have to die trying._ Dick wouldn’t manage the castle alone with Jason, even with Alfred’s help, and Bruce was gone, and Damian didn’t deserve to grow up in a war. He had to marry, and marry Dick too, to stabilize Waynecastle, and fend off the wildlings. He had to reach the coast. _I promised Kon I wouldn’t… I promised him._

Another wave hit the side of his head, and a warm tendril curled around his neck.

 

“You must be _so important_ for the Lord of Light and Shadow,” hissed a furious growl.

 

And Tim’s world went black.

 

 


	20. Jason

...

 

Life was good for Jason Todd lately. He wouldn’t have guessed this outcome a few months ago, but then everything turned out alright. The replacement was gone, probably dead by now, knowing how Ra’s used to treat his prisoners. Bruce was dead too, which was exactly what he deserved. Talia was away, taking their awkward encounters far from Jason once and for all. The wildlings wouldn’t attack anymore, or at least they hadn't tried a second time yet, and the evil Wayne brat got under control, and was now incredibly entertaining. Also, having Dick’s stupidly beautiful legs wrapped around him every night or so was a certainly enjoyable aspect of his late castle life. And so was sitting on Bruce’s throne. Him, the useless son of a pariah who tried an impossible coup, was then ordering people around and dealing with petty commoner’s problems. It wasn’t his role per say, but Dick was busy taking a bath or speaking with Alfred or both. The knight liked meeting important people there, and didn’t understand the point when Jason told him everyone only agreed with him because they were distracted by his naked form. Not that Jason minded. Dick could rule them all with his prettiness for all he cared. Warm smiles and winding hips had efficiently tamed him after all.

Jason suddenly wondered if he would eventually get bored out of it, and decided it wasn’t humanly possible, not with how utterly charming the Dothraki could be when he wanted to. He felt the usual urge to climb upstairs and see him, to push away whatever lecher was standing there and join him into his bath. He’d kiss him everywhere until he’d make that sighing noise that Jason loved, and then he would lift him up and drop him onto a bed instead. Water wasn’t so great for that kind of activity, for it proved to be awfully slippery when you wouldn’t want to slip and would slosh everywhere and splash into faces and eyes at unfit moments. Dick would laugh and giggle at it all, but Jason liked it better when he was taken with moaning. So bed it would be, with the Dothraki’s drenched hair soaking the pillows and smelling good, and his skin glowing and shivering. _I could look at him for a whole day_ , he thought, _if I were able to stop groping him all the time_. Jason decided he liked Dick’s thighs the most. They were lean and powerful and warm, and impossibly sensible and responsive to his touch. They would squeeze so tight around him in the midst of their coupling, and wouldn’t let go, and Jason would lie if he didn’t find that highly arousing. Sure, Dick’s arse was a wonder itself, but his legs… _I could fuck them_ , Jason thought suddenly, and felt hot. _I could ask him to close them for once and slip between them._ It would feel amazing, he knew. And useful too, for the nights where the knight didn’t want to wake up sore and wouldn’t let Jason near his fine rump.  _I could go do that right now_ , he realized, and stood.

 

“... Ser?”

 

And now he was standing straight in the middle of the hall, where a few gazes considered him with curiosity.

 

“Sit down, Todd. I know turnip trade gets you excited, but please refrain from making a fool of yourself again.”

 

He turned and glared at the brat. The small smug bastard sat on his own throne, dressed as a tiny king.

 

“Shut up,” he answered. “I’m going.”

“You cannot,” countered the lad. “This man here was explaining to us how he needs coin to build up his turnip farm. It would be very impolite of you to leave us just now.”

 

Jason groaned. Bruce’s spawn was right. Dick had asked him to listen to the turnip man, and so he had to listen to the turnip man.

 

“Go on, turnip man,” he said, sitting back on his wooden chair of a throne and gesturing the farmer to hurry up.

“So, ser, as I was saying, turnips contain lots of important stuff we need in our food. It could prevent starvation and…”

 

Jason stopped caring past this point. He wondered why Dick hadn’t rescheduled this rural gathering for another time. Or invited the turnip man in his bathroom in the first place. He snickered at the mental scene, with the Dothraki’s bright face being slowly talked to boredom about turnips and potatoes and whatnot.

 

“I am outraged. You foolish peasants ask ludicrous amount of gold, and to conduct simple enough tasks.”

 

The brat outburst woke him up.

 

“But ser…”

“Enough,” the child spat. “We do not require of you to die for your village. We do not force you to take up arms, though we are deeply in need of it. We do not even raise the levies to reconstruct the castle. Yet here you are, begging for more. Sadly, the wildings took the most valiant of our people.”

 

The farmer went red with rage.

 

“I will not accept such insults as an answer! Lord Wayne would never have permitted such thing!”

“Well, see where that got him,” remarked Jason. “That’s what happens to complainers.”

 

The turnip man produced a shocked sound.

 

“Are all of you peasants present to ask for the coin we do not have?” inquired Damian in his small, shrill voice.

 

A few people in the room started to head back toward the courtyard.

 

“That is what I thought,” the youngster went on. “All there gathered as beggars.”

“Stop saying that,” scolded Jason. “They’ll start an uprising and I’ll tell Dick it was your fault.”

“‘Tt.”

 

The turnip man was still there with crossed arms, obviously not satisfied.

 

“Eh, you,” the ironborn called out to him. “We can’t do much about your turnips. The lord spent all his money to build you people that nice wall to protect your lands.”

 

This wasn’t a lie. Dick had insisted a lot of gold had to be put into circling the small village with a heavy stone wall, even before reconstructing the castle itself.

 

“I’m pretty sure turnips grow on about everything. I mean, I grew up on a rock, and there was turnips. You don’t need to buy fancy earth for them. No one can afford fancy stuff anymore.”

 

The man seemed taken aback by his words.

 

“I guess you're right. But we aren’t sure the soil is fertile enough, with all those pine trees. And winter is coming.”

“Turnips are roots. They don’t need the same soil a peach tree would. Also, they survive cold weather. Thing is, you won’t get them each year. Still better than potatoes though.”

“Where did you learn this?” Damian wondered out loud, staring at him in disbelief.

“I actually listened to Alfred when he taught me about farming and husbandry.”

“Preposterous.”

 

He shut him up with a sharp pinch to the arm.

 

“I think we’re done here,” he told the farmer. “I’ll put a word about you to the lord.”

 

He rose again, and this time he didn’t let anyone force him to stay. They had been at it for hours. He knew the brat had to train outside in the snow, and he wouldn’t miss the daily humiliation for nothing. Also, Dick fighting was always great to watch. He climbed the steps leading to the private rooms of Waynecastle, pushing away a crew of serving maids. Dick had moved around everything, changing bedrooms four times before deciding on a new, final setting. Everything to keep the replacement’s belongings untouched, in case he ever came back from Dorne. And he would not, Jason was sure of it. In his time living there, he had seen plenty of young men being randomly selected from their home for Ra’s to keep about and train. Then they would come back bruised and broken, and then they would stop coming back at all. He guessed a few of them made it into his secret armies, and the rest dumped in the nearest river. He also knew the same would have happened to him, eventually. He wasn’t bright enough to be kept as a pretty living statue, and he probably wouldn’t have survived the training. So he ran away, off to kill everyone he hated. _And now what?_ He opened the bathroom door and was brought to a halt right then.

 

“Oh. Jason. Good thing you’re here.”

 

It never meant something good when the Dothraki called him _Jason_. He stepped forward and decided to ignore the lovely lady sitting on his side.

 

“I need you to meet someone.”

 

He knew. He knew by the forced smile on Dick’s face, by the way his hand hung without purpose outside of the bathtub.

 

“No way,” he said back.

“Jason…”

“No.”

“Jason, just listen…”

 

He had his little gentle voice, the one that both made him want to drown him and to hold him close and never let got.

 

“I don’t want to meet anyone.”

 

Dick sighed and sunk deeper under water.

 

“As you wish.”

 

He rubbed his eyes and splashed a bit.

 

“I’m sorry, but could you please leave us,” he addressed the woman.

“Certainly.”

 

She had a smooth, low voice, and a clear gaze, he noticed when she considered him. A round and gracious jaw, a straight nose. She was beautiful, and Jason wanted to hate her. But then she moved around the bath and he had a pause.

 

“You’re her,” he understood when he saw the chair she was resting on. “You’re his first betrothed. The one the Joker nearly killed.”

“And you are his lover,” she said back. “The one the Joker _did_ kill.”

 

He looked at Dick in confusion.

 

“I told her,” the Dothraki explained. “It was part of Tim’s plan. She wants to help us.”

“By wedding you,” the ironborn snapped.

 

The lady laughed softly.

 

“Tell me. Are you afraid I’m to steal your place in his bed?” she asked him, smirking.

“Why wouldn’t you?” he answered honestly. “You’re pretty, he’s pretty, you’ll make pretty babies.”

“I am quite sure you noticed I cannot walk,” she said, gesturing at her own legs. “Never mind baby making.”

“Can we drop the matter of having children?” whined Dick from his bath. “Point is, she can wed me, and this way we’ll have all of her father’s men, and you can stay with me.”

“And what do you gain from that?” he asked the woman.

“I gain a wealthy husband. And freedom.”

“Since when are you wealthy?” Jason asked the bathing man.

“Since I bought that tree market. Moat Cailin gives a good price for the wood we have.”

“And you wouldn’t mind me?” the ironborn insisted, turning back to the lady stranger.

 

He didn’t believe her. Soon enough she would want Dick to fill his marital duty, and then she would get jealous, and then he would have to leave.  

 

“No, I wouldn’t mind you,” she smiled.

 

She pushed and pulled at the wheels on the side of her chair, advancing.

 

“I would need a room accessible without climbing a flight of stairs, though. And my handmaids would have to follow.”

“Sure,” Dick said, seemingly happier now that everyone was talking.

“Who are you?” demanded Jason, amazed at how easily she maneuvered through the room.

“Barbara Gordon. Pleased to meet you.”

 

She presented him her hand and he kissed it without much thought.

 

“Gordon? As in…”

“Knight-Commander Gordon, yes. The one that put an end to the Wildling Wars.”

“He knighted me,” Dick added excitedly. “And he’s still in charge of all the knights in the area. Also, he has huge armies all around the Lonely Hills. We could finally take back what’s ours.”

“What’s yours,” he corrected him. “Nothing belongs to me anymore.”

“Ours,” Dick insisted with his stupid grin.

 

Barbara Gordon exited the door.

 

“I’ll leave you alone to decide who owes what part of my lands,” she chuckled. “I’ll stay in the village a fortnight. Come over anytime if you reach a decision.”

 

She saluted them by flailing the end of her dress in a quick half reverence. She then left and closed the door behind her.

 

“You’re going to marry her, aren’t you?” Jason asked as soon as he heard the lock click shut.

“You can’t say it’s not a good idea. She’s perfect for us,” Dick complained, reaching for his towel.

“Stop talking as if it’s my idea. You’re not asking my opinion, you’re trying to convince me.”

“Well, yes. I know it’s a perfect plan. Tim made it.”

“He keeps annoying me from beyond the grave.”

“Don’t say things like that,” he frowned and emerged.

 

Somehow, Jason wasn’t in the mood to touch him. Meeting the future wife had quenched any lewd thought he had earlier.

 

“I’m late for Damian’s training, right?” the Dothraki made, paddling with wet foot.

“You mean his beating. Yes. Turnip man kept us way too long.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Was that a distraction? To keep me away from here while you all planned it out?”

“No, Jay. I wasn’t even sure she would agree.”

“Told you. They all say yes because you’re naked under all that water.”

 

He huffed and dried his hair.

 

“She already saw me naked.”

“Yeah but you were a child at that time. Pretty sure you… filled up since then.”

 

He laughed and shook his head.

 

“You’re dumb,” he joked. “And I wasn’t a child, that’s gross.”

“How old were you?”

“... Sixteen.”

“My point.”

“But she was two-and-twenty, so…”

“What?” the ironborn cried out. “She’s older than you? And that’s late for a first betrothal.”

“I wasn’t her first,” Dick explained as he went looking for clothes. “Only, her father is… very picky. He refused a lot of suitors, and then nullified two betrothals.”

“And then you came, fresh and handsome lording that could walk on his hands. Such a feat.”

“He wasn’t impressed by _that_. Bruce was a good friend of his. They won the war together. Also, I wasn’t half bad with a sword.”

“Back when you actually knew how to use one.”

“Fuck you. I know how to use one, I _decide_ not to use one. And back then I was way too much into makeup. I can’t believe Gordon thought I’d be acceptable for his daughter.”

“Oh, because _now_ you’re not into makeup?” snickered Jason.

“It used to be worse,” he declared and picked up a light leather outfit.

 

Dick threw the towel aside and put the breeches on. Then he strutted to his dressing table, in front of the large mirror. He was lovely as ever, even without his face paint and clinging jewels, and Jason felt a horrid coil of anguish as he realized he could lose him to an estranged childhood love.

 

“Can I do your hair?” he asked the Dothraki.

“That would be nice.”

 

He was handed the brush but didn’t take it, and went to work, gently carding through the humid curly mass in front of him with his fingers. Dick was busy trying to mix his kohl and failing as he kept closing his eyelids in bliss, to finally quit pretending he wasn’t enjoying it more than he should and let his head loll to the side. It made Jason chortle, and he went on grooming silky locks. The brush laid untouched as he dipped his fingertips into an oily fragrant mixture to knead more luster into Dick’s hair. The smell of it always turned the ironborn on, for it was the same oil they had used in the woods to help him ease his way between the other man’s legs. But Jason refused to let the moment turn into foreplays though, and when Dick let out a soft moan he removed his hands.

 

“I’m done,” he announced.

 

It was a lie. He had messed up Dick’s dark mane more than tamed it, and the Dothraki looked silly and windblown.

 

“Then you could do my shoulders too,” he smirked through his reflection in the looking-glass.

“You’re such a princess.”

 

He did it nonetheless. His hands were all greasy anyway, and Dick turned out to be very tense. He dug his fingers into the muscles holding his head to his shoulders and let the few hissing noises tell him where to apply more force. After a while of doing so the knight had stopped producing pained yelps and felt lax under Jason’s palms. He glanced at Dick in the mirror, thinking he’d find him almost asleep, but instead was met with a small grin and mischievous eyes.

 

“What?” Jason asked.

“I love you.”

 

The words would always take the breath out of him and leave him both empty and filled with too many disturbing emotions.

 

“I… I know,” he answered.

 

Dick was probably only saying that to soothe him about the wedding thing. It wasn’t working.

 

“I want to wake up every morning next to you,” the damned idiot went on.

“You never wake up in the morning, you moron,” he chided back.

“Sometimes I do, before dawn. And you’re there, and it makes me happy.”

 

And it made Jason happy too, when he’d wake up from some nightmarish place to find Dick breathing quietly next to him, his godblessed legs snuggled against him and his gorgeous face peaceful.

 

“You’re late for the brat’s beating. Go kick his arse and stop trying to smother me with sappy words,” he told the knight, and felt awful when his smile fell into a sad pout.

“I mean it,” he nearly whispered. “I know you’re mad about me wedding Barbara, but I don’t have a choice. I don’t want you to go because of that.”

“I know you don’t have a choice, but I still hate it,” Jason admitted.

“I don’t love her. Not anymore.”

“But you could fall for her again.”

“I won’t. I promise you I won’t.”

“It’s not something you have any control on. You fall in love way too easily.”

 

Dick huffed.

 

“Excuse you? I’ve been in love with you for more than a year, and faithful, too. Notice how I didn’t easily fall in love with anyone else since then.”

“It’s not the same,” he replied. “You’ll have to sleep with her.”

“I won’t.”

 

Jason let out a frustrated growl.

 

“Dick, fuck, just… admit the situation is shitty. You’ll have to fuck her, at least once, stop trying to fool me on that. And it’s fine, it’s normal, you’ll be married to her for crying out loud.”

“Jay…”

 

He turned around so they wouldn’t have to talk through the glass anymore.

 

“I don’t know how to explain it to you, but she doesn’t want to bed me.”

“Impossible. Have you seen your rump lately? No one would miss a chance to…”

“She’s been raped,” he cut him suddenly.

 

Jason felt queasy.

 

“... Oh.”

 

And then, by the disgusted expression Dick was making, he understood. He nearly retched and had to take a step backward.

 

“Fuck, I didn’t mean…”

“It’s fine. You didn’t know. But now let’s say that she doesn’t want to see any man in her bed.”

“I’ll kill that fucker.”

“I know you will. She’ll be glad to assist you with that.”

 

 _Being beaten to death is nothing compared to that_ , Jason thought, sick with contempt.

 

“I’ll kill him,” he repeated, because he was wordless.

“Sure you will,” Dick made as he stood up.

 

Now Jason wanted to run down the stairs and make for the village, find Barbara Gordon in the inn and swear to her that he would kill that wildling bastard. But it would be silly, and he knew that Dick wasn’t supposed to tell him that. He regretted hating her at first sight, though, and told himself he would act more nicely to her, to give her the respect she deserved.

 

“I’m sorry,” the ironborn said after a while.

“No harm done. Anyway, even before that, she wasn’t much into that, just so you rest assured.”

 

Dick was smiling again, which meant their argument was done, and Jason was relieved.

 

“I don’t deserve you,” he confessed.

 

That got his lover beaming with joy.

 

“See? You can smother me with mawkish declarations too,” he laughed.

“Shut up.”

“Tell me more cute things.”

“No.”

“Just another one then.”

“Dick, no.”

“Please,” he pleaded, and wrapped his arms around his shoulders.

 

He kissed the tip of his nose and Jason groaned.

 

“No,” he insisted.

“It won’t hurt. Come on. Or do you want me to start?”

“Fuck no.”

“Fine. Every time I look in your eyes, I feel like…”

“Fuck off. You’re pretty. Here. I told you something nice. Now shut up.”

 

Dick snorted.

 

“That doesn’t count. You tell me that all the time.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Urg.”

 

He sneaked his hands on Dick’s lower back and pushed him against him in the vain hope that it would distract him.

 

“And don’t try to woo me with your body,” warned the other man, his face now buried in the crook of his neck and his breath warm against his skin.

 

Jason didn’t answer and let the hug linger, his fingers roaming slowly up and down the Dothraki’s naked back.

 

“I don’t know what to tell you,” he stated.

“Maybe a little inspiration could help you,” Dick said and mouthed along his throat.

 

Jason snickered.

 

“If you do that, all I’ll have to say is that you’re too attractive for your own good.”

“Can’t you think of something that doesn’t involve my body?”

 

That took the ironborn by surprise. Usually, Dick loved to hear all kind of compliments about his perfect figure. He had a physique worth a thousand wars for, a smile that could tear kingdoms apart, and yet he didn’t want to hear that? Jason didn’t know what to do.

 

“I…,” he stuttered.

 

Dick sighed and pushed him gently away.

 

“Never mind,” he said. “That was dumb. Forget I said anything.”

“I’m…”

“Forget it.”

 

He turned away and grabbed his jerkin on the bed. Jason knew he had fucked up, and it pissed him off that he could do nothing about it.

 

“Sorry I’m not some goddamned poet,” he spat, angry at the man for requiring sweet words out of the blue.

 

Dick didn’t even react, and just went on dressing himself.

 

“Oh and now you’re mad? Fucking great.”

“I’m not mad.”

“You sound like you are.”

“I’m… I’m thinking, that’s all.”

 

He faced Jason and he didn’t indeed look as furious as he’d like him to be. Dealing with anger was easy. Dealing with hurt feelings was the worst.

 

“Just… Tell me. Am I only a great pair of legs?” he pondered, voice low.

 

 _You’re also a wonderful rump_ , he wanted to answer, but felt like the moment wasn’t ideal for jokes.

 

“No. You’re more than that. You’re…”

“Because I have to wonder,” he pressed. “All I’m ever told is that I’m handsome. I’m starting to think… What will I be when I’ll grow old? What will happen if I ever get smashed in the face? Will I stop being what I am?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

 

Jason bit his lip. His lover was on the verge of turning sad once again, and he couldn’t suffer long nights of crying one more time. He had had enough when the replacement disappeared, with Dick not even leaving his bed for weeks, curled in a little ball of sorrow.

 

“I don’t know for everyone else,” the ironborn said, “but every time I see you I want to worship you, and I guess the easiest way is through your skin. But that doesn’t mean all you are is skin. It’s… It’s just that it’s so rare to see someone that actually looks like what they truly are, it startles people. It startles me, at least. You’re the only pretty thing around here, and I mean it. You’re the only that’s pretty inside, too. So… I guess everyone tells you you’re handsome because they don’t know how to say it otherwise.”

 

Dick considered him, eyes glazed.

 

“What do you mean, people don’t look like they truly are?”

“I mean… Look at me. You see me and you could think I’m a normal guy walking around. Probably a northman, since I’m so freaking white. You don’t expect me to be an undead murderer. You don’t expect me to have such a fucked up life. That’s what I mean. But when I look at you, I see a beautiful man that’s all smiles and great legs, and then when I talk to you, it’s actually a beautiful man that cares for people and that loves showing around. So you fit what you look like.”

“When I look at you I see a handsome man too,” Dick muttered.

“That’s because you have no taste.”

 

He puffed loudly.

 

“Would you want me if I were ugly?”

 

Jason had to think about it for a while, but decided that he was far too infatuated with the man to care if he ever turned less beautiful than he was at the moment. After all, he had always admired Dick’s confidence and the way he would give everything he had to solve everyone’s problems, and _then_ , with his coming to manhood, he had noticed that he was additionally exceedingly handsome.

 

“Yes, I would want you however,” Jason answered at last.

“Then I still don’t get it.”

“I seriously can’t explain it better. That’s why I usually try to show you instead.”

“By having sex.”

“Kissing you everywhere would be awkward if I wasn’t about to fuck you. Also it would be impossible if you weren’t naked.”

“And how is kissing me everywhere telling me I’m more than a pile of flesh?”

“Because it’s my way of telling you stuff, stupid. Stuff I don’t know how to word.”

 

Dick’s brow furrowed in confusion.

 

“Could you show me?” he asked, and it was oddly innocent, considering what he was asking for.

“Not now. We don’t have time for that. Maybe later.”

“Then tell me.”

 

Jason held in a scream, almost hoping the brat would barge in to yell at them and to order they would stop frolicking. He sat on the bed and sighed. Dick sat next to him, big blue eyes listening.

 

“You’re a moron,” he told him. “But fine.”

 

Listing what he would like to do with a naked acrobat was sure easier than explaining what he meant to him.

 

“Tonight I’ll kiss every damn piece of your skin, because it’s gorgeous, and it smells good, and it’s mine to kiss. I’ll flip you on your belly and make sure to leave love bites everywhere. You have that small scar on your shoulder because of me, and I like it, and I like the noise you make when I bite it down.”

“I like that scar too. It reminds me of you.”

 

How he managed to find the romantic side of every gross things Jason ever told him was beyond him.

 

“I thought you were going to explain to me the stuff you can’t word,” Dick added, “but I like that too. It’s like making love, but through a letter or something. Please go on.”

 

He scooted closer. Jason could see it was getting to him, with his flushed cheeks and blown eyes. The knight did love talking, and liked it even more when it was about himself.

 

“Come here,” he gestured.

 

Dick smiled and settled between his legs, sitting on the edge of the bed, his back pressed to Jason. He nosed behind the Dothraki’s ear, on that sweet spot that smelled like soap and a bit of sweat. He inhaled, taking in what was purely Dick, breathing deeply the scent of the man he adored.

 

“I’ll eat you up,” he went on, and Dick moaned lowly, pushing against him.

“Jay…”

 

He shushed him and blindly undid a few laces in the front of his lover’s breeches. He didn’t mean to let Dick distract him from his anger again, not this way, yet he couldn’t refuse him when he was like that, shuddering and looking at him like he was the only thing that mattered.

 

“I won’t take you like that, though,” he murmured. “I’ll lay you down so I could see your pretty face.”

 

Now that was only for the other’s pleasure. He knew Dick liked it best when they were facing each other, when it was slow and languid and toes curling. The man rolled his backside against him with a whine.

 

“I’ll take you slowly, just to see your back arch under me,” he whispered, and snaked his hand down Dick’s body.

 

He was answered with a loud exhale and an enticing bow of spine.

 

“I won’t move at first. I never do. I’m always afraid I could die again right then, because you feel too good to be true. Also because you’re beautiful when you fidget.”

 

Dick grunted and twitched and opened his legs a bit more, and Jason palmed him.

 

“I need to tell you about your thighs,” the ironborn admitted all of sudden. “I want to fuck them. I want you to hold them close, and then I want to fuck them.”

 

His lover shivered and let his head fall against his shoulder, panting.

 

“Yes.”

“Would you like that?”

“Yes,” he hissed again.

“Great,” and he held Dick by his inner thigh as he fondled him roughly.

 

This weird talking session was almost to an end already, he noticed, with how the Dothraki kept urging his hips forward and producing all kind of sweet pleading sounds.

 

“I’ll fuck you. I’ll bend your legs around me and you’ll love it. I’ll fuck you and hold your hands so you couldn’t touch yourself, and I’ll do it until you…”

 

He noticed by a quick movement in the corner of his eye the mirror, and how he could see almost all of the other man in it. Chest heaving, hands clenching white on the bed sheets, mouth parted in bliss and dusky skin blushing. He was the fairest of them all, truly, and Jason had to avert his gaze to keep from being overwhelmed.

 

“You’re so perfect.”

 

The Dothraki hiccuppaed a plaint in another language, body taut.

 

“Fuck, I love you.”

 

Dick screamed and clasped his fists hard on Jason’s pants. He felt him pulse and spill between his fingers, and kept on moving until the man groaned and stopped shaking. The knight slowly turned into a limp, wheezing mass against him. A moment passed where Jason wiped his sticky hand on his pants leg and listened to the man’s gasps as he found back his breath. He nuzzled him and pecked along his neck kindly, hoping he would fall asleep. Of course, he didn’t, and soon stirred.

 

“That was…”

 

Dick chuckled dumbly, still stuck in his afterglow.

 

“That was interesting.”

 

He tried to turn and ended up half standing up, half seated on Jason.

 

“So…”

 

He rearranged himself in a more comfortable position, circling the ironborn with every appendage he could. One time, back when Jason was very young, his father had found a great whale on the shore, and intertwined with it was a greater squid still, almost a kraken, he had thought. They had probably anchored fighting each other to death, but the squid would have won, with its long feelers wrapped around the big fish. Jason felt very much like the whale right now, knowing he’d lost already, unable to escape. Dick cleared his throat.

 

“When we… When you make love to me, you… try to make me feel like you feel about me, right?”

“Yes,” Jason answered, relieved that this was being understood at last.

“I make you feel like that?”

“Yes. Everyday.”

 

Dick beamed at him again.

 

“And you love me.”

“... Yes.”

 

He threw himself at him and kissed him and it was open and wet and Jason was reminded that he was still very aroused. Dick pushed him onto his back and soon enough his cock was being harshly grabbed through his trousers. His groan was cut short when the other man nudged his legs apart and slithered between them. The Dothraki let out a husky growl as he bit down Jason’s lip, and that efficiently got him light headed with want, but somehow curdled his blood. Dick had never been this… _aggressive_ before, and Jason couldn’t help but feeling a pang of fear coiling deep in his guts, disrupting his otherwise comfortable delight. He tried to flip them over but his lover resisted, and well, _that_ was something new, and it was also awfully enticing. He pushed him away before his mind would forget its unease, and Dick whimpered at the loss.

 

“What are you doing?” he asked the ironborn in a hazy voice.

“What are _you_ doing?” he snapped back.

“I’m… I’m kissing you,” Dick made, confused.

 

Jason suddenly regretted not shutting his damn mouth. Of course Dick wasn’t doing this on purpose, and of course he hadn’t notice anything wrong, because _there was nothing wrong_. It was only the two of them, embracing in their bed in their dark, unlit bedroom, and now the other was going to think he had done something bad.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what the fuck just happened.”

 

The Dothraki hummed and rolled on his side, looking at him with curiosity.

 

“And now I killed the mood, didn’t I?” he added, and Dick snorted a laugh.

“You didn’t,” he promised, and pecked him on the nose.

 

Jason retaliated, and then kissed his stupid, smug smile, and then they were moving against each other again.

 

“I demand you quit that frisk business and allow some time to give me a proper education,” abruptly yelled a tiny annoying voice from the other side of the door.

 

Jason sighed and the Dothraki groaned. _Where were you a few minutes ago when I needed a distraction?_

 

“This is Damian,” Dick stated the obvious. “It’s almost night time, I should go see him.”

“Yeah, you should.”

 

But Dick wouldn’t get off him, and he was very tempted to shoo the brat away.

 

“If you do not emerge your room this very instant, I abscond and elope to Dorne. I am not warning you a second time, Grayson.”

“Are you sure he’s your squire, and that it’s not actually the other way around?” Jason huffed.

“Shut up.”

 

The knight finally let him go and stood up, taking a steadying breath first. He did the same, chasing the leftover lust away.

 

“Come watch us train?” Jason was asked.

“It’s not like my favorite activity wasn’t to watch your arse all the time anyway,” he answered with a shrug.

 

Dick smiled with the little dimples in his cheeks and took his hand, and Jason decided he couldn’t care less if he was getting married, as long as he’d see that once again.

 

 

 


	21. Damian

 

...

 

For once in the last few months, it didn’t look like winter was on the verge of falling over their heads in infinite snow and cold winds. The maids had opened every door, and a somewhat fresh but not deadly breeze pushed a flowery smell all around the castle. There were beasts roasting in great pits of fire outside, attracting cats from everywhere in town. Even yet, Damian was unhappy. He tugged at the jerkin he had to wear, hissing at the color. It was of an awful hue, the kind of sky-blue that never truly happened at Waynecastle, the kind without any cloud nor rain nor snow in it. Grayson’s blue. And worse yet, he was to match with Todd in the hideous tone.

 

“This is preposterous!” he complained, pushing away the hands of the woman who was dressing him. “Those are not my colors.”

“They are the lord’s, and yours too, for the day,” she replied gently, before leaving him to look for a belt.

“But it is not like any of those idiots actually thinks he’s my father!”

“Shut up, brat,” drawled the man standing next to him. “No one thinks he’s mine either. It’s just to look bland and cute in the background.”

“If this is bland, I wonder what is vivid,” Damian spat.

 

Todd laughed at him.

 

“Just you wait. I’m sure pretty bird will kill our eyes with as many colors as he can wear. I’d bet on at least four different kinds of yellows.”

“Why, did you not see him already?” he wondered aloud.

“No. It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding,” snickered Todd.

“So is frolicking with them the day they wed someone else,” Damian answered with a mean smile.

“Shut up.”

“No. I have to say, I like Lady Gordon. Or should I say Lady Grayson now?”

“I swear I’ll gut you,” the man growled.

 

Damian didn’t mind the insults and threats. To him, the sooner the ironborn stopped running around the castle chasing a giggling and very naked Grayson the better. Or whatever they were actually doing when Alfred forbid him to climb upstairs. And the new lady was very nice to him, and beautiful. He couldn’t care less for the shape of her face or bosom, but he did enjoy the subtle way she replied to everyone with wit, winning the conversation every time. Also, she played chess a lot, and Damian wanted to learn chess since Drake bragged about being excellent at it. And of course, Grayson couldn’t sit still long enough to appreciate a game. He looked forward to befriend her.

 

“By the Maiden, I can’t believe it takes you men so long to get dressed.”

 

Damian shuddered at the high voice interrupting his thoughts. Even Todd turned to stare at the intruder.

 

“Who’re you?” the ironborn asked the blond girl that jumped right next to them to look out the window.

“I’m Lady Gordon’s handmaid. She’s been ready since… about an hour. Where’s Dick? I heard he’s handsome. Thought I’d find him here.”

“Get your fat bottom out of my bedroom, woman,” ordered Damian, annoyed by her obnoxious presence.

 

She chuckled and eyed him.

 

“Didn’t know the king was invited. Or that he was so small.”

 

The young lord made a face, but she ignored him and Todd snorted.

 

“I’m Jason,” he said instead of defending Damian’s honor.

“I know. I’ve heard of you.”

 

She gave him a thorough look too, then smiled.

 

“Ain’t half bad either. Bunch of pretty men up north.”

“Where are you from?”

 

They leaned into each other’s spaces and Damian wanted to vomit everywhere.

 

“Oldtown. Then Lady Gordon came around my aunt’s inn and now I follow her and all. It pays so good, it’s crazy. Nobility folk. Plenty of gold, or absolutely no coin left. But I fell on the plenty type.”

“Lucky you,” he whispered.

“Yeah, lucky me. I’m Stephanie, by the way.”

 

Damian sighed and clicked his tongue, making to leave the room.

 

“Would you look at that? By the Mother, it’s beautiful!”

 

The girl clad in deep purple jumped back to the window, producing cooing noises. Damian was intrigued and joined her. He had to point his toes to see outside, but it was worth it. Flower petals had been laid everywhere, the white species that grew on mountainsides. The wind blew them away at times, flaying the draperies around. The whole set seemed as a moving cloud, right in the courtyard, with the fumes of the roasts like mist floating at people’s feet. Damian Wayne had never seen a wedding before, and loathed them, but this was breathtaking. He was so engrossed by the sight he almost missed the shy tinkle by the doorstep, up until Todd swore loudly.

 

“Holy fuck.”

“Jay, please. I don’t want Damian to pick up those words.”

 

Grayson was in the room too now, handsome as ever, and fortunately wearing a midnight doublet without any traces of yellow.

 

“You’re gorgeous!” yelled Stephanie, way too close to Damian’s ear.

“I… Thank you,” the knight hesitated. “I… think Barbara is looking for you downstairs. She said a ‘silly girl wearing purple’, so…”

“It’s not purple, but yes, fine, I’ll go.”

 

She grabbed Damian’s arm and tugged to lead him outside too. He spat in outrage and slapped her fingers off of him.

 

“Don’t be a baby. Let’s leave them alone,” she insisted.

 

Grayson winked at him with a small smile. His eyes and temples were painted with gold and the same blue his atrocious jerkin was, and he wondered if he had done them himself, for they were neatly drawn as tiny bird wings. Even his high cheekbones were dusted with a bronze sheen. From up close Damian could see the doublet was actually made of many layers of light silky fabric, and he supposed the Dothraki didn’t feel the cold as he would. Todd for his part seemed like his wits had just seeped through his nose, gaping stupidly. By then the insufferable handmaid had brought him away from the scene and closed the wooden door behind them.

 

“I have every rights to stand in my own bedchamber,” complained Damian.

“Shut up. Do you think they’re going to.... you know…”

 

She pinched both her hands, as if mimicking duck heads, with kissing sounds as she made them smooch.

 

“They frisk a lot,” he confirmed.

“Even now?” she gasped. “Just before getting married? I mean, m’lady wouldn’t mind, but....”

“Why doesn’t she mind, actually?”

 

Stephanie giggled.

 

“She’s not into you people with trousers.”

“You mean men.”

“I mean people that want to be naked with each other. But yeah, men too. ‘Ew’ she says, you know. But those?”

 

She grabs her own breast over her bodice.

 

“She doesn’t mind them so much. Not mine, though. She’s way too old, she says. But here’s a secret, young one. Hold your tongue about it, and listen up. Women aren’t as dangerous as men, not with each other. It’s easier to sleep next to them. Well I think. Personally I have something for you dangerous lot. Like that Jason fellow? Too bad I’m not an awfully good-looking exotic lord. He was something. Dick I mean. Wow.”

“Shut up,” Damian made, aware it sounded like a plea. “And that still does not explain why your mistress would accept Todd sharing her… intimacy.”

“I think she’s glad someone’s taking care of her husband, you know. It’s not like she’s going to bed him, even if he’s nice and all. And… I don’t know. She’s happy. That’s all that matters.”

 

He hummed in agreement. He didn’t know much about lovers, after all. It’s not like his own parents used to share their love with the world, back when they were still both alive and… there. But Grayson was very loud about it, and never shied from physical affection. It helped, in the dark nights when being alone was too much to bear for Damian, to know that he could always crawl to the knight’s room, knock, and that someone would let him in. Todd would complain, but Grayson would hug him and cradle him and wrap him in his arms, and the dark couldn’t reach there. He guessed that was what love was about, and hoped Lady Gordon was truly agreeing with the course of things as they were. He bet she was nice to cuddle, too.

 

“Come, small one. We need to get downstairs.”

 

Stephanie tugged his arm again and Damian grunted as he followed.

 

“When you run, it makes your bottom jiggle like a fat pig,” he commented.

 

The girl laughed joyously.

 

“Oh, you’re a mean one, tiny Wayne.”

 

They turned a corner and entered the lady’s wing.

 

“You know, I was supposed to wed the lord’s squire, but I could as well marry you, when you’ll stop being so small.”

 

Damian thought he might explode from having too much gall to spit at her.

 

“You would befit Drake so very well, with your common idiocy. Alas, he would surely suffocate at his wedding night under all your weight.”

 

She screamed, smiling all the while.

 

“So much nerve, for such a wee body!”

“I hope you fall down the steps and break your neck.”

“I wish you trip into the fire.”

“Fat girl.”

“Brat.”

 

A door cracked open.

 

“Stephanie, are you seriously fighting with a ten years old child? No offense, Damian.”

“None taken, my lady.”

 

He bowed to Barbara Gordon, who seemed very upset with her handmaid.

 

“You look marvelous,” he added, just because.

 

And it wasn’t a lie. Her fiery hair were braided with the same little flowers that shivered outside, and the emerald of her dress clung to her gracefully. She wore less face paint than Grayson, but that wasn’t a surprise, and it wasn’t necessary. She rolled forward on her wheeled chair.

 

“You are most kind,” she spoke back. “So. Let us get married, shall we? Where is my husband-to-be?”

 

Damian glanced toward Stephanie, and she glanced back, eyebrows high.

 

“Oh,” said Barbara. “I see.”

 

She smirked and moved around them.

 

“Well then. Let us wait for them in the hall.”

 

Damian suddenly felt angry for her, and couldn’t tame his burst of emotions.

 

“Grayson seems like a poor choice of husband, if he cannot even manage to get out of Todd’s pants for his own wedding,” he hissed.

 

Lady Gordon nodded her head, smiling.

 

“It is a hard time for Jason. He probably needs reassurance, while I don’t.”

“That does not excuse…,” Damian went on.

“Hush. You will soon learn that not all alliances are made between people in love. I am lucky enough I can find a friend in my husband, and even more so that he respects my choices. I do not care how he spends his nights, as long as he doesn’t make a show out of it, and as long as both our honors stay intact. This is a small price to pay for peace.”

 

Damian huffed but didn’t answer. _I would never marry someone if they were in love already with another_ , he thought, and scowled at Stephanie when she hit him with her elbow. _But between loneliness and a safe place to live, I can imagine why she tolerates the ghost._ The handmaid flailed her arms again and he gritted his teeth not to hit her, for Grayson reappeared at last, not as jolly as he’d been, and makeup still intact. He smiled at them and moved closer.

 

“Where’s Todd?” inquired Damian, because his absence was uncanny.

“He’ll… He’ll join us later, maybe,” answered the knight, fixing his hair a bit more.

 

Lady Gordon made an amused noise with her nose, and caught Grayson’s attention.

 

“You’re beautiful,” whispered the Dothraki to his betrothed.

“Says you, handsome. Are you ready?”

 

He took a deep breath and shook with it. He was quite pale for someone allegedly joining his life to his childhood love’s.

 

“Yes,” he managed. “Let’s finish what we started.”

 

She grinned at him and took his hand. Stephanie pushed the chair while Damian followed with Grayson’s cape. There was next to no one in the hall. Since Bruce Wayne and Ser Gordon both went away at war, no family was present. People living in the castle showed up, mostly dressed in blue, as required. A few cooks there, too many handmaids, and even more empty seats where Drake should be, or Todd, or Lady Talia. A few nobles were invited, mostly to keep up appearances and hoping they would gossip the good news around. Maester Alfred was on a little bench and held a big book at the end of his frail hands. Damian walked to him.

 

“Can I help you with that?”

 

The old man laughed softly.

 

“No, thank you, Master Damian. But you are very kind to offer.”

 

So Damian took his place behind the Dothraki. Grayson didn’t live under any belief, and so the wedding was held under Lady Gordon’s Seven Gods, and that was awkward enough. They had to find statues of them in the passing weeks, and candles to light at their feet. _All false representations of the unique power of R’hllor_ , Damian pondered, but kept it to himself, thinking of his mother. _It is almost the same, someway, with their Stranger they do not dare call and will not whisper in their chants._ Cold and black as ashes, probably, just like the very entity Lady Talia would never speak of to Damian, the enemy of the God of Flame and Shadow.

 

Maester Alfred cleared his throat, snapping the young heir out of his grim thoughts. A fat man joined him near the big book, and he assumed that would be the septon. _I bet this man does not feed on turnips alone_ , he growled mentally. People were famished all over the northern lands, and even their own supplies had been cut short, after Todd had made a fuss about villagers’ rights. And of course Grayson offered him everything he’d ask for, even if Damian now started to understand the point. There was enough starved bodies found every day in Gothamtown that even he would notice the problem.

 

“We are today gathered to celebrate the union of two grand Houses,” suddenly claimed the septon. “Heiress of House Gordon, Protectors of the Gift, and Lord Wayne…”

 

Maester Alfred whispered something in the man’s ear.

 

“... My mistake. Lord Grayson, heir of House Wayne…”

 

Alfred nodded, and the man went on.

 

“... are now ready to join their lives under the blessing of the Seven.”

 

Damian tsked. For all he knew Grayson would rather swear on his horse’s honor than on some weird seven headed deity. He knew the ceremony would be long. Everyone warned him it would be, that he needed to be patient. But Damian was a small child yet, and he liked to use it to his advantage. So he dropped the ceremonial cape on Stephanie and sneaked away. He got a few stares, but Grayson had his back to him and couldn’t notice.

 

He climbed the empty servant stairs up to his father’s rooms. No one lived there anymore. There was dust on the papers on his table. The bed left unmade the morning his mother left. Perfumes and clothes she didn’t take with her. He hoarded it all in a pile on the floor and sat on it. He was lonely, and for once in his life, it bothered him to no ends. He wondered if anyone else in this castle could understand. Grayson had tried, but his parents died, and the man who killed them was dead too. No vengeance was needed anymore. But Damian had been abandoned. Sure, Bruce Wayne had died at war, and someday he would stick steel in his killers’ throats, but his mother had no good reason to leave. He didn’t get any letters yet, no messages, not even a few words of farewell. Damian was angry, and wished stupidly they’d take him instead of Drake.

 

He stood up, and went to the glass case containing pretty swords set with precious metals and glowing gems. He picked one of his favorite sword, the one with little snakes at the end and emeralds in their eyes. His mother’s wedding gift. It was a woman’s blade, for it was too tiny and elegant to be a Northman’s. He played with it for a while, swooshing at air. _Not worthy enough to be given my first sword by my own father_ , he gritted his teeth. _Back at Grayson’s mercy, and Todd’s, and now his wife’s. Not worthy enough to make my own decisions._ And then Damian felt his anger rising up again, and tried a swing at the bed. It pierced the feathered coverlet easy enough, so he turned to the pile of clothes and fancy dresses on the ground. _I won’t need either of you anymore._ He shattered the perfume pots with his heels and cut through the remaining of his mother’s belonging. _I never needed you._ He went about his father’s furs too, all those ugly things that made him look like a giant, malcontent bat. _And you didn’t even manage to stay alive._ He slashed his wardrobe too. He spat into the glass shards and fabric bits. He lifted the sword again, just to make sure the furniture was done for too, but someone grabbed his arms and undercut his momentum.

 

“What the hell, brat?”

 

He turned with the intent of stabbing Todd, but the man easily jerked the blade away and made it land with a clang on the ground.

 

“Seriously though. You’re making such a racket the whole thing down there has to hear.”

“Let go of me,” he growled back.

“Sure, so you can chop me too.”

 

But yet Todd obeyed and freed his arms. Damian pushed against his chest anyway, earning a chuckle.

 

“You need to learn how to hit someone. But heh. You’re pissed. What’s going on?”

“As if I would talk to you.”

“Pretty bird’s busy for the next few hours or so, and obviously you don’t want to go back holding that stupid cloak, do you?”

 

Damian was stuck between having to entertain small talk with the ghost, or enjoy his walk of shame back to the wedding. He sucked his lip and decided to divert the conversation.

 

“Why were you not at the ceremony yourself?” he asked.

“Baby bat, one day you’ll get the feeling of having your soul ripped from your body because of someone, and you’ll understand why I don’t want to look at Dick swearing his eternity to some random woman. So that’s why I’m not standing there like a blue-clad moron. Why aren’t you doing your cape-handler thing?”

“I got bored.”

 

Todd snickered.

 

“T’was pretty dull, got to give you that.”

 

Damian sighed, and the ghost crossed his arms. His fingers were bloody, and the child wondered if he’d manage to hurt him with the blade.

 

“What happened to your hands?”

“Went through a fit and hit a few walls. Turns out those fuckers aren’t so gentle to skin. Guess I should’ve pick a few of pretty bird’s horrid shirts and tear them down instead. Is that why you destroyed Talia’s stuff?”

“No.”

 

_Why is he so honest with me? No one is proud to say how they hurt themselves._

 

“So no broken heart. That’s a good start. He’d be a bit old for you, but you’ll grow up eventually.”

“I do not wish to bed Grayson,” Damian hissed, disgusted and distressed.

“I know, brat. Fatherly figure and all that. Big brothers and stuff. So what is it then?”

“It is actually none of your business. Go back to your sulking.”

“Don’t feel like it.”

 

He smirked and Damian wanted to punch him again.

 

“You miss your mother, don’t you? And that fuckhead of genitor?”

“Do not dare speak of him this way,” he roared, and launched himself at the man.

 

He succeeded at making him fall awkwardly on his backside, and then landed a blow on the side of his face.

 

“Shit, brat, calm down. He’s dead anyway.”

“Because of people like you!”

 

Todd grabbed his fist and stood up, but this was an old trick for Damian. He kicked his leg and his booted foot connected with the man’s forearm, efficiently freeing him. “ _Push higher, Dami. Don’t be scared, it won’t hurt if you stretch a bit more. Wider is better than stronger.”_ He braced himself for an incoming attack, but was only met with a sad smile.

 

“I won’t hit you back, brat. He trained you good enough with the kicks.”

 

Damian didn’t know what to answer, so he frowned and kept his stance.

 

“He puts so much faith in you,” Todd nearly whispered. “And here you are fucking around and playing sword in your mother’s unmentionables. What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“He’ll leave, too, someday. So what do you care if anyone has faith in me?”

 

The ghost laughed low in his chest.

 

“He’ll come back. Pretty bird always comes back.”

“Not if he dies.”

“Heh. Funny enough, but even that’s not impossible to come back from.”

 

He scratched the white patch in his hair and then rubbed his whole face.

 

“He won’t die. I won’t let that happen. Only fuckers die.”

“How can you promise something like that? This is absurd,” replied Damian.

“Listen, brat.”

 

He kneeled in front of him and Damian didn’t dare make eye contact. He never trusted the weird off-color teal of him, as if someone had lay a white veil of death over his gaze and forgot to get it off when he got back into the living.

 

“I will die and come back again at least three times before I let anything happen to Dick. Believe me. He won’t disappear from your life. He loves you too much to leave you alone in that shithole.”

 

Damian exhaled slowly, relief slowly washing over him.

 

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

“It’s nothing.”

“He loves you, too,” the child said.

“I guess. Hard to tell sometimes.”

 

He had to roll his eyes at that.

 

“Are you kidding? He is marrying the only woman in Westeros who would not mind you, and would not ask for your head after a day of putting up with your shenanigans, the only woman that would ever refuse to share his bed. He took the time to actually, for once in his life, make a decent plan, and follow it. He does all of this for you.”

“I know,” grunted Todd. “Still makes me feel like shit. He should marry someone he loves. I shouldn’t even be here.”

“That is true,” admitted Damian.

 

He got a dangerous flash of teeth in warning.

 

“But,” he added, “now that you are back among us, I know that Grayson will not let you go, either.”

 

Todd smiled and shuffled Damian’s hair gently.

 

“Yeah, you’re right. He didn’t even let go of the replacement yet. He never lets go.”

 

Damian swatted his hand away.

 

“Come, baby bat. Let’s get back down there.”

 

His bloody fingers squeezed his shoulder gently, and they trekked to the main hall. Damian scooted back to his place next to Stephanie, who swatted the back of his head violently in scolding. Todd settled on his left and took the wedding cloak from the handmaid. The septon was saying some nonsense about exchanging godly gifts, and suddenly Grayson was turning toward them. He started a bit at Todd’s presence, eyes turning round and wary. Todd grinned and jerked his chin forward, handing the midnight cape over. Grayson grabbed the thick cloak and slowly pulled it out of his lover’s grip. Stephanie rolled Lady Gordon’s chair on the side and the Dothraki attempted a shaky smirk. He mouthed something at Todd that was close to “ _Thank you_ ”, but Damian reflected that it was probably more in the lines of “ _I love you_ ”. He made a sound with his tongue, and Dick beamed at him too, and then returned at his bride’s side. Todd ruffled his hair again. _This can’t be so awful_ , Damian decided, trying a smile too.

 

 


	22. Richard

 

...

 

Winter had stopped being obnoxiously waiting at their doorstep. A short lull between two snowfalls, to be sure. Damian was only in his training attire, and didn’t need his fur cloak to survive outside without complaining it was too freezing for him. And Jason obviously didn’t feel the cold wind, for he wasn’t wearing anything but his trousers and boots. Dick was _absolutely_ not complaining about that.

 

“I think I finally get what you find in him.”

 

He turned to his wife, who was busy reading a heavy book about modern politics in Braavos.

 

“It took you all that time to notice he’s handsome?” the Dothraki chuckled.

“Dumbass. He _is_ good looking, in a ‘I could murder you in your sleep’ way.”

“He doesn’t kill people anymore.”

“Good to know. But it wasn’t my point.”

 

Jason yelled at Damian, and the child tried to kick his face, without success. Maybe Dick shouldn’t let his lover and… _son_ fight, but Jason really wanted to help in Damian’s training. And he didn’t mind taking a break.

 

“Fuck, brat, you fight like your father. That means you suck.”

“May you die again, Todd.”

 

The child flipped on his hands and pushed upward. His foot connected with the ironborn jaw and Dick felt oddly proud.

 

“That sucked a bit less. Do it again.”

 

They ran around the sandpit, Damian trying to land punches, and Jason doing his best not hurt the small heir by countering his attacks.

 

“He takes care of the people he loves, and you love him for that,” Barbara declared all of sudden.

“I… Yeah, I guess he does. He’s good with Damian. He’s good with me.”

“And he’s nice enough with me,” she smiled. “I didn’t expect him to be such a good man.”

 

Dick lifted an eyebrow.

 

“He seems dangerous. He’s harsh. It was a surprise to find out he’s a decent chess player,” she explained.

 

He let his gaze follow Jason for a while, noticed the way he was prowling around Damian with a smirk, teeth showing just enough. He shivered, recalling the bite of it in his skin.

 

“You also love that violence in him, right?”

 

Dick nodded sheepishly.

 

“You’ve always like that in people. Who else would wed a pirate princess otherwise?”

“It’s not… Well fine, I like powerful people. I like to know they can defend themselves. I like strong arms, probably.”

“You like to know they can pin you in a bed, too.”

 

He spluttered. A few handmaids within earshot giggled.

 

“Babs, you can’t say things like that out loud.”

“Right. As if half the castle wasn’t aware of that already.”

 

He sighed and hid his face in his hands.

 

“Can we change topics?”

“Sure. Guard patrol witnessed wildlings yesterday. Only two of them, but still. So close to the village, that’s disturbing.”

“Really?” he moaned. “I had hopes Tim killed them all.”

“That would be very unlikely.”

 

The smell of sweat filled his nose, and Dick rose his head to find Jason right next to him.

 

“You stink,” he told him, trying to shoo him away with his hand.

“And you usually don’t care. So what’s the deal with wildlings?”

“There were two of them in the woods of Gothamtown,” repeated Barbara.

“Did we kill them?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

 

Jason sat on Dick’s lap, who huffed at the sudden added weight.

 

“We need to set up outposts to make sure those fuckers don’t sneak in again,” he went on, talking to Barbara.

“I agree. We could not bear another raid. The villagers would flee forever, as they did at Drakesclaw.”

 

He shook his head, and Dick tried to push him off.

 

“Jason, get your heavy butt off of me.”

“My arse ain’t heavy. You’re just too weak.”

“Too weak?”

 

Being insulted on his capacities always worked wonders to anger Dick, so he folded one leg and violently shoved his heel into Jason’s lower back. The man yelped in pain and scrambled to his feet.

 

“Fine, I get it,” he hissed, rubbing his hip with a wince. “And I’m the crazy one… Anyway. Tell me if you need some scout or whomever, I’ll go. Can’t wait to kill ‘em wild fuckers again.”

“And I want to go too,” claimed Damian, on Barbara’s right. “It is about time you show me what really entails when we fight these men, Grayson.”

 

Dick let out a long exhale before answering.

 

“Not now, Damian. I cannot afford to lose you, or get you hurt. Not yet.”

“‘Tt.”

“Don’t make that sound. We just lost Tim...”

“It has been _months_ …”

“... I am not ready, and I said no.”

 

Damian bared his teeth in a snarl that was so close to Jason’s that the Dothraki had to smile.

 

“Soon we will fight together, Damian. Be patient. Get better at those kicks.”

“And not only the kicks,” added his lover. “Work on those punches. You’re not strong enough.”

“He doesn’t need to be strong, he needs to be fast,” Dick countered. “He’s too young yet to put on muscles.”

“Being able to lift a sword would be useful,” taunted Jason.

“I want him to dodge the attacks, not swing around a too-big blade.”

“He won’t kill anyone by running away.”

“It’s not running away, it’s an efficient defense.”

“Says you.”

 

Dick growled and the ironborn smiled.

 

“I think we should settle this with a spar,” the Dothraki proposed, only wishing to shove the laugh out of his paramour’s face.

“You’re on.”

 

He strolled back into the sand pit, and Dick patted Damian’s shoulder.

 

“Watch and learn,” he told him.

 

The child raised an eyebrow and scuffed the ground. Barbara cheered loudly and clapped, and it drew many of her handmaids about her.

 

“I hope the crowd won’t distract you too much,” quipped Dick, letting go of his woolen coat.

“I forgot how you thrive each time you have spectators, Ser Performer,” snickered Jason. “One time we should try fucking in front of people,” he added in a whisper.

 

He groaned, because the idea wasn’t so bad, and Jason grabbed his arm and flipped him over his back and on the ground. He grunted at the impact. _Right. He talks a lot._ Dick jumped back to his feet in a crouching position and swept at the ironborn’s shins, and he stumbled a bit. He took one leg and pulled, and the man fell on his side.

 

“You’re so pretty when you fight,” breathed Jason.

“And you’re pretty when you lose,” he retorted, and pounced on him.

 

The other chuckled as Dick landed on him and pinned his arms down.

 

“Fine,” Jason said. “You win this one.”

“You didn’t even try,” he complained.

“You needed to prove your point to the brat. Now it’s done.”

 

Dick shook his head.

 

“That’s not what I wanted. And he won’t believe what we just did. You punched him harder.”

 

Seafoam eyes wrinkled.

 

“You want me to try?”

“Yes.”

 

He laughed and it sounded like a bark.

 

“Then say farewell to those nice teeth of yours.”

“Why would you…”

 

And Jason head-butted him on the jaw, _hard_. Blood flooded his mouth.

 

“Fucker,” he spat, and rolled out of his reach.

 

It was only a bitten tongue, he decided after a bit of prodding. The ironborn was already launching himself at him, and he barely dodged the attack. _You need to act quicker._ He breathed deeply and assessed the situation. Jason was ready for battle. His shoulders were hunched and curled inward, fists raised in an aggressive pose. He was smiling quietly, as he did back at his trial by combat, so many moons ago. Dick’s hand ached at the memory, and his mind went fuzzy with wariness and haste and _survival_ as Jason rushed and met him with the edge of his torso, picking him up and from the ground. Raw force was great, the Dothraki had to admit, using the momentum to slip from the grip and to elbow the other’s nape. He took hold of Jason’s clavicles from behind and pushed downward with all his weight, pinching the sensible muscles there, efficiently reducing the man to his knees with a shout of pain. It was easy to use the support of his sweaty shoulder blades under his palms to flip over him and kick him in the middle of his chest. The ironborn huffed out a heavy wind, but before Dick could turn around and knee his face, he caught his shin and pulled, and a fist collided with his side. Dick fell over him with a leg uncomfortably tucked under his lover’s arm, and the other half folded in front of him in the sand. He needed to escape. Being near meant being crushed, as Jason proved, tugging at his leg to drag him closer, trying to pin his arms and clawing at his clothes. This was far from ideal, and soon enough the other man would succeed at grabbing him, or at least break some of his limb getting to do so. But he needed not to panic. _No one expects a hare to bite_ , his mother had once told him, after she had punched the front teeth out of some groping nobleman’s face. _A smile and a punch_ , he chuckled to himself, and decided on what to do next. Still facing the dirt, he wrapped his second leg around Jason’s middle and hauled his own body until he was sitting on his lap, with both his feet at each side of them, his back to him. Dick grinded down a bit, feeling Jason’s approval and listening to his panting as he circled his body with his hands.

 

“I got you, fucking acrobat,” he muttered.

 

Dick laughed and, tucking his toes snugly against Jason’s hips, vaulted forward, pushing the ironborn to the ground as he freed himself, landing on his hands and springing back to his feet. He heard Barbara burst into applause as he ran to the other side of the sand pit.

 

“I’m not done with you,” Jason yelled, angered.

 

But to Dick, this was over. He sprinted toward his lover just as he started walking to him, rolled between his legs when he tried to grab the kick he thought Dick was about to do, and tripped him. When Jason stumbled he gently pushed him, and ran again. This time, it took Jason more efforts to stand. He was tired. Dick was relieved. He dashed one last time forward, and in one practiced movement, used the same tactic he had shown Damian, and bolted on his hands to push his boot into Jason’s face with so much force he followed the ironborn’s body to the sand in one graceful arch. He decided to give some chance to the pretty smile he wouldn’t dare ruin, and didn’t land right into his mouth. Jason somehow found the occasion to kick his thigh and his knee at the same time, and it creaked with agonizing hurt.

 

“I’ll break your fucking bones if it’s what it takes,” he promised, a dark gleam in his stare.

“No you won’t,” Dick answered.

 

Just for the show, and also to make the ironborn shut up, he let himself fall head first, flipping slowly mid-aid, and as he thought, without any added impulse, his drop was cushioned by Jason’s body, breath knocked out of him. Afterward, it was a child’s play to twist the man’s arms away and to render him incapable of freeing his limbs as he was fighting to get air back to his lungs.

 

“I think I win,” Dick smiled.

 

His lover snarled and thrashed, and bit his forearm. The Dothraki yelped and knocked him on the cheek in an unconscious reaction. His head snapped to the side with a grunt.

 

“Fucker,” Jason hissed, teeth reddened by a split lip.

“Sorry. I’ll make it up to you later,” Dick added, and his thumb padded the man’s wrist gently.

 

He grinned, even though it ached in his bones, and winked. Jason went lax under him, seafoam eyes growing wide with interest instead of violence, the black of them receding to a sane size.

 

“I must admit, it was quite impressive,” suddenly commented Damian.

 

Jason pushed his lover off of him and growled as he struggled to stand up, spitting blood on the sandy ground. Dick picked himself up too and rubbed his chin.

 

“Thank you,” he made to the child. “So you see, being big and strong doesn’t do much if you can’t escape a close attack, or if you can’t gage your opponent’s moves. You need to watch before launching your offensive.”

 

The ironborn made a dangerous sound and left them to pick up his clothes, piled up near Barbara.

 

“I also noticed you rely a lot on your legs,” Damian went on. “Would there be a way to avoid that?”

“I guess there is. But eventually, you must use something. If not strength, then speed, and if not that, your wits. If Tim was still there…”

“Drake would be of no use. We have Lady Gordon. She could teach me about strategies.”

 

Dick beamed at his adoptive son.

 

“I am sure she would be very pleased to tell you everything she knows. She’s the one who taught me how to fight with a pole instead of a sword. I’m sure it’d be great for you to train this way, too.”

“Certainly, if you insist. May I go play chess now?”

“Yes, of course.”

 

Damian bowed quickly, then ran to Barbara. _This is going to be alright_ , Dick decided, looking at the way his wife smiled at the child, and gestured her handmaid Stephanie to fetch the chessboard. _We can be a family, at last._ He felt something in his chest squeeze lightly. _Family_ , he mused, and left to find Jason, who wasn’t outside with them anymore. _I hope he’s taking a bath._ He sure felt like taking a bath himself, with his kohl running and stinging in his eyes and his hair plastered with sweat. Also, he had to make sure he hadn’t bruised Jason’s pride too much. So after a small nod to his wife, he went inside and to his quarters. His lover was sitting on the bed, nowhere near the bathtub, trying to pull on a boot with a wince. He flashed a scowl when he noticed his presence in the doorway.

 

“You left without a word,” Dick said to break the ice.

“Obviously I didn’t have much to say, since I know nothing about fighting.”

 

Dick sighed and locked the door behind him, taking a step forward.

 

“I didn’t mean to humiliate you. You’re a great warrior, and I know you held back.”

 

Jason made a noncommittal noise and fished the other boot, half stuck under the bed.

 

“Where are you going?” Dick asked, eyeing the light outfit Jason was putting on.

“Hunting. I need to kill things.”

“Charming.”

“Fuck off.”

 

 _Oh, well. Now he’s mad._ He pinched his nose, praying his annoyance wasn’t showing too much.

 

“It was a good fight. You can’t be such a sore loser,” Dick teased, because he would rather have the ironborn snap at him than ignore him.

“I nearly killed you,” Jason whispered in a rushed breath.

“What? No? I mean, you were careful enough, weren’t you?”

“Yeah. I…”

 

He swallowed and glared at the rug at their feet.

 

“I wanted to kill you. I wanted to crush you.”

 

Dick shuddered. He had felt so, too, but had hoped it was only a trick of his mind.

 

“You were gone, weren’t you?” he asked softly.

“For a while. Got better when you fucking landed on me. Who does that?”

“You wanted to break my legs. I did what I could.”

 

Jason froze and clutched at his own knees.

 

“I should go,” he muttered.

 

He stood, but Dick was still blocking the door, and stretched slightly his arms so he couldn’t circle him and escape.

 

“I’m fine,” he assured the ironborn. “You didn’t kill me. No one’s wounded. You don’t need to go.”

“Get out of the way.”

“Jason...”

 

The man gripped his waist and tried to push him to the side.

 

“Are you really throwing a tantrum because of that stupid spar?” Dick cried out, shoving him back by the bed.

“Yes,” Jason snapped.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Fuck you.”

 

The Dothraki inhaled sharply.

 

“I get it. You’re afraid you’re going to hurt me. You’re afraid of the man you are when you lose your mind.”

 

Jason quit trying to pry him off the door.

 

“I just…,” he started.

 

Dick stared at him and waited patiently for him to finish off his sentence, gently rubbing the forearm he’d been holding.

 

“It’s… Your stupid legs, they’re…”

“All that fuss was about my legs?” he choked, amused.

 

Jason snarled again, furious.

 

“Sorry,” the knight granted, calmly. “It’s fine with me if you’re mad. But let me understand why.”

 

The ironborn didn’t reply. Instead he let out a long breath and lifted his hand to cup his lover’s face. Dick smiled and nuzzled his fingers.

 

“So let me know if I got this right,” he began. “You love my legs.”

 

Jason snorted. That was an understatement, and they both knew it. The man cherished them. Nuzzled the nook of his knees for no reason. Brushed against them in the morning when the Dothraki was still half asleep. Whispered pleas for Dick to squish his thighs around him as they mated. Left fingerprints and love bites many a time, just because he wanted to claim the limbs. Would whispers sweet nothings on their skin between kisses.

 

“You like them,” Dick went on, “and so you don’t want to hurt them.”

 

Jason nodded and squeezed his hand.

 

“And you’re afraid, because you have no power over what you do when you’re gone.”

“We used to want the same things, the thirst and I, but now...”

“But now it’s different. Because you don’t only want to kill the wildlings and survive.”

“It doesn’t let me protect you. It’s only anger, all the time. It makes me a danger. For you, for Barbara, for Damian.”

 

Dick understood what he meant. Jason sometimes had vivid nightmares, and would hit him in his sleep, or shove him away forcefully off the bed, as if Dick were a sneaking enemy. They had toned down for a while when they first came back to the castle, but got back since the wedding. And he couldn’t do much about it, except pretend they didn’t occur so often, and soothe Jason back to sleep afterward.

 

“I can live with the risk,” he said after a while. “I can defend myself.”

“I know. But it gets me sick just thinking of it anyway.”

“Yet you don’t want to kill me. We fought hard and your mind switched to survival. It’s normal.”

“There’s nothing normal about that,” the ironborn chuckled darkly.

“It is for you, someway. I don’t want you to go because of that. I need you too much.”

“Do you really?” he wondered softly, frowning pensively.

 

Dick grinned and nosed Jason’s palm.

 

“Of course I do. I want us to raise Damian together, and to fight off every wildlings. I want us all to be a big family. And I want you by my side until we die of old age.”

“Quite the plan you got there.”

“I know.”

 

Dick closed the small distance between them and rounded his shoulders with his arms, not too tight, just in case he was sore from their battle. The other man hugged him back, holding him close.

 

“Sometimes you try to kill me without meaning it, and sometimes I fall sad and cry for days. We both need each other,” the Dothraki admitted against his lover’s pulse.

 

Jason huffed and it tickled his hair.

 

“Sure, no one else would drag your lazy, sobbing arse into a bath otherwise.”

“And no one else would pin you to the ground and wait for you to come back.”

 

Jason grinned and kissed him, a quick peck. Dick felt like chasing after him and nibble his fight-swollen lips, but overcame the need. The other man probably wanted some space to think and ground himself, and bedding him right then wouldn’t quite achieve that.

 

“Get me a few hares, yes? I’ll ask the cooks for a stew,” he demanded instead.

“Better get going now then. They don’t get out much at night, with all the wolves.”

“Be careful.”

“Don’t worry pretty bird, I’ll be back. You still owe me a rightful apology,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows.

 

Dick laughed and pushed him away and out of the room.

 

“Idiot,” he answered with all the fondness he could muster.

 

Jason waved and walked down the hallway. Dick followed the sight of well-fitted breeches barely covering the details of his lustrous backside until the man turned the corner and disappeared. He sighed, already longing for him to come back, ignoring the dreadful feeling in his guts.

 

His bath was exceptionally quick and cold, for it was already time for supper, and he didn’t wish for the whole castle to wait for him. Also, he was starving. Damian was already pushing around beets in his plate and making disgusted faces at it when he arrived.

 

“When will we get adequate food? Or would you rather want me to starve?”

“Please, Damian. No need to fuss.”

 

He picked the beets with his knife and put them in his own plate, and gave him a few carrots for it. It wasn’t the tastiest bites ever, but how could they complain, when most of the inhabitants of Gothamtown couldn’t even afford bread every day.

 

“Jason will get us hare, if we’re lucky,” he told the child in a whisper, as if it were some secret.

 

Damian beamed at him, and ate his carrots willingly enough. Barbara and Alfred were talking about setting outposts in the forest, and moving men from the Lonely Hills to secure Gothamtown. He didn’t mingle in the conversation, for he knew almost nothing about military schemes. It would usually be the maester and his wife making the decisions on such matter, and then he would apply his seal to the resulting parchment. Instead, he asked Damian about his cat, and found out the beast had almost died again sleeping in the hearth in the kitchen.

 

Jason wasn’t back yet when Dick climbed back to his chamber. It wasn’t unusual for him to stay late when he was hunting, but he didn’t like to know the man was walking through the forest at night, with the wolves, the wildlings and the other potential dangers. Maybe he had encountered someone. Maybe he was off to patrol between the trees himself, waiting for the few wandering wildlings to kill them. This was unlikely, but not beyond Jason. Dick went to bed early, having nothing to do of his evening but being in pain and feeling his fresh bruises. He blew off his candle, only to hear a startled scream downstairs. He bolted out and toward the sound, into the cold castle hallways, until he ran into Stephanie.

 

“What is happening?” he whispered in a hurry, trying to forget he was only in his underpants and that the cold floor was threatening to freeze his toes off.

“Lady Gordon is dreaming,” she answered, eyes wide. “She locked the door, I can’t reach her.”

“Don’t worry. I know how to open it. Go back to sleep, I’ll take care of her.”

 

The handmaid nodded and shivered. Usually, she was the one dealing with the nightly horrors, but Dick didn’t want to teach her how to break open a sealed door. He watched her getting back into her own bedroom, and made for the kitchen, to pick up a small knife. He jimmied it between the wooden door and its lock and pushed upward, until he heard a short metallic noise. Barbara wasn’t screaming anymore, but she was still thrashing and muttering frenetic begs for someone to go away. Dick was used to this with Jason, so he sat near her and gently stroke her cheek.

 

“Wake up, beautiful. It’s only a dream. It’s not happening.”

 

She jerked awake faster than the ironborn would have, and with way less kicking and punching.

 

“Dick, he’s here.”

“No, he’s not. Go back to sleep. It’s fine now.”

“I saw him. He was there, he was at the door with his ram, and he got me, and, and…”

 

She was crying. He rarely saw her cry, and he didn’t know what to say.

 

“He’s not here, Babs. He won’t come here.”

“I know. I know. I just keep hearing his laugh.”

 

He laid down next to her, slid a hand through her soft, messy hair.

 

“Can I hold you?” he asked her.

 

She nodded in the dark, and let him circle her with his arms.

 

“Go back to sleep. I’ll watch over you, and then I’ll go.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, and rolled to hide her face in his chest.

 

He hugged her tighter and closed his eyes, just to rest them for a while.

 

 

 


	23. Conner

 

...

 

This wasn’t going on as smoothly as intended, Conner thought to himself as he dodged an arrow. The kitchen girl had disappeared with the cook somewhere after they had left the wrecked ship, and now a bunch of men from the woods were attacking them for no apparent reason. Bart had ran away at some point, but he could still hear him blabber in fright nearby. They had made it only a few days on the boat before a small storm took them by surprise and crashed them against the rocky shore. Considering their overall lack of talent at sailing the poor thing, it wasn’t unexpected, but it wasn’t great news either. Now they had to make the rest of the way on foot, and that ought to be more perilous. _If we survive at all_ , reflected Conner, punching an assailant right on the nose, which crunched quietly.

 

There were only six of them, seemingly waiting for him and his friends to wade back from the salty water to shoot and charge at them. From their matching light armors and shields, he assumed they were guards or soldiers for a local lord, but they never let them try and explain the reason they were dumbly sailing in the worst autumn weather possible, and so Conner was suspicious of their true intents. Another arrow found its way in his shoulder, and the smith grunted in annoyance. He grabbed the nearest man and swung him at another, successfully knocking them both on the head and rendering them defenseless. The three men left standing in front of him were the ones with the bows, and they all notched and drew, watching him. He waited for the shot, ready to roll away from the danger.

 

It was only late afternoon, yet a wolf howled nearby, between the forest’s pines and trees, disturbing their fighting and unnerving everyone. One of the bowmen shook with a scared shiver and lowered his weapon, while another swallowed loudly. Everything fell quiet. Conner didn’t really care for the wolf. He thought it was probably a pup, lost and far from its pack, yelling at the sun to find its way back. He truly didn’t expect the sudden giant roaring beast jumping at a soldier’s neck, tearing it up in a disgusting noise. The smith took a few steps back in shock, calculating his way out. The wolf was huge, grey with shining eyes and bloodied fangs, but it seemed only interested with the bowmen, scattering them and hunting them down efficiently, pouncing and clawing at their backs while they screamed. As the last of them fell, the beast peacefully retreated back to the forest, with in its maw the arm of a corpse.

 

“What the in the Mother’s name was that?” whispered Conner to himself, not sure of what he had just witnessed.

 

The silence of the wind rushing against the pines and the water sloshing around broken wood only answered him, and as he lifted his eyes back to the shore, he felt dizzy. He had seen this place before, with the wrecked ship and the round stones on the ground....

 

_Bart._

 

He ran to the water, searching the area for the groom. He found him right where he thought he would, about a whitened trunk by the sea. The man was still alive, but very pale against the mossy soil, with a sword stuck through his midsection.

 

“Eh,” the wounded man saluted weakly. “You have an arrow in your back.”

 

Conner nodded and took out the offending piece of wood, throwing it away. He kneeled by his friend into the salty mud.

 

“So… Are you alright?” the smith asked without a second thought.

 

Bart snorted, then winced.

 

“He poked right through me, then the wolf ripped off his arm.”

 

He moved his head to the shore’s direction, and Kon could see the armless body floating on the waves.

 

“I’m going to die,” the groom announced in a small voice.

“No you won’t,” he hastily replied. “We’ll fix the boat, we’ll ship you back to Waynecastle, and the maester will take care of you, and you’ll be fine.”

 

The other man shook his head slowly, and tears started rolling down his freckled cheeks.

 

“I don’t want to die,” he sobbed, eyes wide with anguish.

“You won’t die. You’ll be fine. People get worse than sword wounds, you know. You’ll be fine.”

“I’m way too young, I mean, I didn’t even left the North once, and now this happens? I don’t want to go, not now. We were supposed to get rich all together, save Prissypants and get back! I don’t want to die,” the groom blabbered, breaths growing short as his chest couldn’t expand around the blade.

“Bart, shut up. You won’t die.”

“I don’t want to,” he whimpered, and Conner held his arm. “I don’t want to go.”

“I promise you. I won’t let you die,” he lied.

 

The other shivered and grabbed at his bloodied belly.

 

“You swear?” he hissed, and in his wanness Kon saw that he was already lost.

“I swear. You’ll wake up and you’ll be back home. With a pile of gold. We won’t forget you. You’ll get all the pretty ladies you want. Don’t worry. Just go to sleep for now, I’ll take care of everything.”

 

Bart coughed. He kept crying, frowning in pain and panting in distress.

 

“You’ll be alright,” the smith added and stroked his damp auburn hair back.

“Horseshit.”

 

He knew that his friend wasn’t buying his lies and comfort, but he didn’t know how to act otherwise, how to soothe his passing, to stop the suffering. Maybe because he didn’t want to let the vision come true, after all. Maybe because he didn’t want to believe it in the first place.

 

“Do something. Please. Don’t let this happen to me,” Bart pleaded again.

“You’re fine. Stop worrying so. I’ll go fetch the others, they’ll help me fix the ship. The cook will patch you up.”

 

He was answered with another panicked sob.

 

“Come on, Bart. Just go to sleep already. We’ll take care of you,” he tried with a gentler tone.

“No. If I go to sleep I won’t see the sun again. I’m not that dumb.”

“I’ll go check for the others…”

 

He made a move to get up but the dying man held him down roughly, gasping as more blood oozed from his wound.

 

“Please don’t leave me. I don’t want to be alone when I…”

“I’ll stay,” Conner cut him. “Just shut up and stay calm.”

“I’m so scared,” he sighed in a nervous half-sob.

“You’ll be fine.”

 

Every heave of his chest was stuttering, pushing the blade around and cutting deeper in his guts. His hand was clammy and cold and jumpy around the smith’s forearm. Slowly he was growing weaker, tears and anxious sweat rolling off his chin. Conner was angry at how long it would take for him to bleed out, and almost wished the foe soldier had done a better job at killing his friend in one blow. Bart was blinking by then, drained from energy and all colors, freckles standing up even more on his nose.

 

“Just a quick nap, you’ll feel better after, I promise.”

“Horseshit,” the groom repeated faintly.

 

A small hand tapped Kon’s shoulder, and he turned to find the kitchen girl standing behind him. He’d never been happier to see her, awfully aware that he had run out of reassuring words to say quite a while ago. He moved to let her join them on the ground and watched her as she tucked her long hair behind her ears and leaned over Bart.

“It’s over, now,” she murmured to him, her hand steady above his heart.

 

The groom smiled quietly and tension seeped off his shoulders under her presence.

 

“Eh, you,” he spoke with soft words, reaching for her face.

“Close your eyes,” she pressed gently, and he obeyed.

 

She got closer to lay a short kiss on his dry lips and without further notice, removed the sword in one swift motion. Bart twitched, then all his body stilled, his hand dropped and he was gone.

 

Just like that.

 

The girl straightened up and dusted her knees from the caked wet sand sticking to it.

 

“We must leave,” she told Conner.

 

He was dead. He had seen that there was nothing to do, yet he had still hoped someone would be able to help him, somehow...

 

“You… You killed him,” he managed once his voice came back to him.

“It was either me, or time, and time is heartless and cruel.”

 

He knew someone had to do it. He actually wondered why he never thought of it himself, but then he wouldn’t have done it with the grace and speed she used.

 

“He was very terrified of the idea of dying,” she went on, “but he was more afraid of the pain than the actual passing. We did well.”

 

Conner thought he had done everything but well, getting his friend killed in an impossible mission to get back a man Bart didn’t even care for in the first place. _He went to help me, and that’s how he got rewarded_ , he scolded himself. _A sword through the belly and a late show of affection from a weird girl._

 

“Why did you kiss him?” he couldn’t help but wonder out loud.

 

She chuckled lightly.

 

“He was very disappointed he would die without even kissing a girl. And he liked me.”

 

Kon knew that too. Sitting on the deck of the small ship when it was their turn to sail it, Bart would go on and ramble about how _not so bad looking_ actually was the kitchen girl, and how he wouldn’t mind sharing his cot with her once or twice.

 

“That’s… nice of you,” he answered at last. “I’m sure he appreciated the gesture.”

“He was a good man.”

 

The smith got to his feet too, ignoring the pale frame of his friend. He had never seen someone die from so close, even less someone he cared about, and he still wasn’t sure how to deal with the emptiness it left.

 

“Where’s the cook?” he asked, chasing off Bart’s wet face from his mind.

“He took care of me while I was calling the wolf. He’s still in the forest, we should go see him.”

“... You did what? With the wolf?” he yelped, confused once again.

 

Thinking of the wolf was easier than being sad.

 

“I called him. He came and helped.”

“You did that?” Conner couldn’t help but exclaim loudly.

“Yes.”

“... But how?”

“Oh. I wouldn’t know how to explain it. It just happens. He was nearby and sleeping, and I closed my eyes and called to him. He went as a wolf and killed the Boltons.”

 

Too much information made its way into Kon’s head, and he rubbed his temples as they started hurting.

 

“So. Let me get this straight. We just fought Boltons?”

“Yes. They are trying to claim this part of the northern lands, and thought we were spies.”

“... Awesome. How do you know that?”

“Victor told me. He recognized their armories. Plenty of Waynecastle’s staff and soldiers encounter them in the woods nowadays.”

“Great. That… actually makes sense. So you… closed your eyes and yelled until a wolf came by?”

 

She laughed aloud this time, an eerie sound echoing on the rocks.

 

“No. I didn’t yell. I called with my mind, as you would do when talking to someone in a dream. I flied and looked for help, and I found him.”

“I didn’t know wolves liked to assist humans. Did you control it? With your wits or… something?”

 

Sorcery and magic, Conner knew nothing about that, but he was willing to believe her if she could do such feats again.

 

“He’s not a wolf,” she said with a scowl.

 

The smith groaned. This was too much for him.

 

“And I didn’t control him. I can’t do that, I’m no warg nor skinchanger. But I think he is.”

 

_Wargs_. He knew about that. He heard the word once before, he was pretty sure of that. Tim must have read him a book on the subject.

 

“Those are… the people that can switch bodies with animals, right?” he tried.

“They enter their minds and become them, yes.”

“One of them is in these woods?”

“Yes. He’s still asleep.”

 

_At least he’s not dangerous to us_ , the smith thought. _Not yet._

 

“I think we should go and meet him,” the kitchen girl went on. “It would be useful to have someone like him with us in our quest.”

 

Conner had a pause. It felt too soon. Too soon to have someone else in their small team, to let a stranger integrate their intimacy, their trust. Too soon when Bart had just left them, when he was still lying cold in the mud, when Kon expected a lame banter about horses anytime and it didn’t come.

 

“... No,” he refused. “Not now. We need to take care of Bart and see if the ship is salvageable.”

“You’re right,” she agreed with a small nod.

 

They found Victor sitting on a tree stump, whetting his kitchen knife. With his help they picked up the remnants of their boat, understood it was beyond their skills to repair it, and made a pyre out of it. Conner had the gruesome task to pry Bart from the ground and settle him atop of the few dry wooden shards and pieces while the cook made fire. He looked his young age, perched up there, so peaceful it seemed like he was about to snore in his sleep. The girl whispered a few words then, speaking of souls and paths and stars, and he wished to himself that the Father would be kind to his friend.

 

They set fire to the pyre, but didn’t stay to watch it consume the body. Conner didn’t want to. He knew the smell of human flesh burning, and didn’t wish to keep this in mind when he’d think about Bart. Also, more soldiers were probably around, and the flames would easily give up their position, and so they fled with their meager belongings. On foot, with salt drying in crust in their clothes, they went on along the seashore, followed unknowingly by bright eyes lurking in the forest.

 

 

 


End file.
